The Raven's Song
by Wolfgirl220
Summary: S7, after ATM. The Doctor is sure he won't take another companion again after Amy and Rory. But when investigating disappearances he finds a woman that doesn't belong on Earth, a woman with a mystery, a woman with a smirk and rose-red eyes and fast fists and a song unlike any other, he can't resist. (No Clara - sorry) (EVENTUAL OC - REALLY long time!)
1. I Don't Even Know His Name

**Okay, I'm not good with Doctor Who stories. But... Here, this one wouldn't leave me alone. Not kidding. Like, seriously, I've been _dreaming_ about this character at this point. There's something about her that just fits. Have no idea where this idea came from but hey - best way to get it out? Write about it.**

**So if you like it, read and enjoy! And review please!**

Chapter One: I don't Even Know His Name

It's always the same dream.

She's afraid, so very, very afraid. She can feel it: the pulse of fear in her veins, the rush of adrenaline that it brings making her heart beat too loudly in her chest, the cloying taste of it in her mouth, the breath rushing from her nose in a torrent that makes breathing difficult. She is looking for something; she is absolutely terrified that she won't find it in time. When she throws open the big trap door down to the moat – and how she knows this she doesn't know, since she can't remember anything else of the dream's landscape – a pale hand immediately shoots up out of the dark. She should still be afraid, because the hand is covered in blood. But instead she is relieved, the sweet taste of victory in her mouth as she grasps the hand… And then she feels herself fall.

She knows, once she awakens, that it's a dream, but in those moments of the dream she can't remember that it's a figment of her imagination. Reality is safe; those dreams are just… actually she doesn't know what to even call them. Three months she's been having them, or rather _that_ one, and she still doesn't know what it is. She only calls it a dream because that's what it is. She ignores the tingle along her back, in _those_ places, that calls her a liar.

Because she _is_ lying to herself.

Morgan rises in her small bed, cricking her neck and stretching. Muscles roll under the thin skin of her back, the pale skin rippling with the movement. She's strong, well-built, thin and straight like an arrow instead of curvy. She prefers that for some reason. When the whisper of a voice tries to tell her why (_thin black feathers teasing the edges of her mind_), she ignores it. There's really only one part of herself that she doesn't ignore at this point, only because there's no way to pretend it doesn't exist. And frankly, who would _want_ to pretend that this part is fake? A dream?

Morgan shuffles out of her bed and over to the window. She throws it open, looking out over the hazy gray morning. This part of America, this sleepy little town along the Canadian-Maine border, is cold and so clogged with woods and snow that most people run as soon as they come of age. Normally they don't give up a nice life in Ireland to become a martial arts instructor in a place that could be the literal definition of 'Hell freezes over' if one felt cryptic and resentful enough. She doesn't care. She loves it, more than the plains and moors and glittering water and too perceptive people of home. She can start over. Live. Hide in plain sight.

Morgan rolls her shoulders beneath the thin cotton tank top. She should be freezing as she steps out onto the widow's walk and looks out into the woods. She's not; eyes that at first glance look brown flicker over everything (_color of autumn and sunsets and blood drenched fields)_ and then full pink lips curl in a self-satisfied smile.

Then she begins her morning ritual.

"Hey I like your tattoo!"

Morgan doesn't turn as she says a quick "Thanks" and goes back to dressing herself in street clothes. There's a shadow of a bruise ringing one eye, already fading after a ten year old managed to get under her guard with a little too much vigor and slammed a well-aimed fist into her eye (_could have blocked it but good blow needed to learn warriors need to hit to learn)_. She could have stopped it, but she didn't. Instead she had praised him, and with a sly smirk, reminded him that being small didn't mean you were defenseless.

She's still thinking of that when the woman who had complimented her comes into her field of vision with a bright smile and cold eyes. Morgan's back tingles at the look the woman gives her. She brushes black hair off of her shoulders and ramps up the smile a little. Morgan instinctively takes a step back. "Where'd you get it done?" _Perky bint needs to leave me alone…_

"Ireland," Morgan says shortly, eyes-that-look-brown-but-aren't flicking over the other woman. She's about Morgan's height (_exactly her height_) with the same kind of pale skin as Morgan's. But there the similarities end: her face is soft and rounded where Morgan's is sharp and angular, her gaze critical where Morgan's is searching (_judging not finding)_, and her eyes are ice blue where Morgan's are on the opposite end of the scale. Eyes that are currently twitching as Morgan fights to check her initial reaction of when intimidated, punch.

"_Really?_ That's a long way to go for a tattoo!" _Git._ Morgan shoots the odd woman a dirty look, clenching long black nails (_claws gouging out eyes and into the flesh of man_) into her palm.

"I'm from there." Morgan regrets admitting this as soon as she sees the woman's eyes light up, a touch of a sneer around her mouth. Hastily Morgan shuts her locker door and shoulders her bag. "Have ta go," she mumbles, dashing out and glancing only once at the woman still watching her. Her skin is practically itching to start a fight, to start _something_, with that woman. She repeatedly curls her fist into her palm and then back out, cracking her knuckles every so often. God it's been too long since she got into a decent brawl…

As always when she starts thinking of starting a fight, she heads to her favorite coffee shop, where her best friend Eric is hanging out, bored as he waits for customers. He brightens when he sees Morgan before frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Double shot of espresso please," Morgan grits out. His eyebrows raise at that.

"That bad, huh?" Caffeine helps calm her overactive systems, one that no medications work on, and the amount in a double espresso usually took away the worst of the jitters.

"Make it three." Eric whistles and gets to work. She dumps her big black bag by the stool and sinks into it with a groan. He sneaks her looks out of the corner of his eye, assessing the situation. Then he shrugs and hands her a cookie from behind the display case. She gives him a tight smile and accepts it, though she barely eats.

"So, who'd you wanna kill this time?" he inquires, dropping a huge cup of pure black caffeine in front of her. She shrugs, draining half of it in one go.

"Dunno. Some girl just giving me creepy looks." She drinks the rest of her coffee and shoves it away from her. "I need ta get some sleep; can barely control my temper anymore." Eric snorts.

"Like you could before." He's grinning but stops when she gives him a look. "Whoa, honey… Is it…?"

"No. No it's a different one." Eric leans over the counter, fingers limply hanging over the edge. His eyes are serious where normally they are laughing and dark.

"Morgan, does this have anything to do with why you left Ireland?" She hesitates and then shakes her head. "Is it related?" Another head shake. "Are you absolutely sure that -"

"No, no, and no, I am _not_ goin' back! I _need _to stay _here!_" she snarls. Realizing what she just did, she sighs, rubbing her head and relaxing her face with effort. "Sorry, sorry," she mumbles. Eric doesn't look phased in the slightest. He just nods and snatches a bite of her cookie.

Truth is she doesn't know why she left Ireland. What happened… it wasn't enough. That night on the Moors wasn't nearly enough to explain why she left. Oh it was horrifying, but there were always other places, other cities far away from where _it_ happened (_blood, high shrieking laughter, a crow calling from within the confines of her own body)_ that she could have run to, cities a lot more practical than where she is in Maine. Morgan shakes her head. Dreams seem to dictate her life. Ever since the orphanage in Ireland, she has grown up plagued by various dreams. Once she was old enough to understand exactly _what_ she was dreaming of, she tried to avoid them. Caffeine, sleeping pills, whatever came her way. They helped to an extent.

And then the green-eyed man came. When he came, before the moors, she was itching to leave. Then the moors and a single ad in the paper… Yeah. She must stop letting dreams call the shots.

Morgan huffs a sigh and takes a first real bite of her cookie. _Mmmm… chocolate chip…_

Eric seems to decide it's safe to ask her about the dreams as a look of contentment steals across her face. "So? Was it a dream of him?" She groans and drops her head into her hands. Dark auburn hair flutters around her face in a torrent (_river of blood swirling about a face, a face covered by a metal helm)_ of wild waves barely contained in a pony-tail. Her hair, her beautiful un-tamable tendrils, is the one aspect she can't bear to make fit the rest of her "practical" physique.

"I'm goin' ta smack ya lad."

"Hey, if I was dreaming of a hot guy like _that_ I'd be willing to share!"

"With who? Me or Marcus?" She flashes him a grin from under the heavy velvet of deep red. Eric mimes grabbing his chest and wincing.

"Ouch! Honey much as I love you the thought of that anywhere in my naked gloriousness gives my poor ol' heart a freaking seizure." He gestures at her body and then at his own. He shakes his head and smiles a mischievous smile. "Nah, it'd just be us; Marcus and I could always use a third." And just like that, everything is alright, even as she makes a disgusted face at her best friend. That's why she cares so much about Eric; he sees her heart, but so long as it's intact, he makes his own deductions and lets her be.

And he's the only one she's met who hasn't said her tattoo looks neat. Instead, when she first met him, he smiled a little grimly and said, "Bet that's a handful." They've been best friends ever since.

They go back to laughing and talking. At some point Eric slides her a cappuccino and a brownie. When she protests he says, "Stuck it on your tab honey." He won't let her get away with not eating, will even force her to pay for food just so she will eat. Rolling her eyes she takes a sip of coffee and then dunks her brownie in the remains. Eric makes a face. "Ew."

"Don't knock it 'till you've tried it!"

"You just ruined perfectly good coffee."

"Don't be silly." She's laughing as she raises the cup to her lips and noisily slurps some of the coffee-brownie mixture. Eric makes a show of gagging. Her grin widens as she finally relaxes.

They chat for another hour, maybe more, the clock speeding up now that there's a way to pass the time. Morgan feels the energy, the charisma, of her friend invading her senses, soothing over her ruffled feathers and making her sigh with much needed relief. Eric is like a breath of the cool morning air Morgan loves so much: crisp and fresh and tasting of freedom. She's surprised she's gotten so far in her life without him.

She's fairly tranquil when he walks through the door.

Eric immediately notices him, of course, and whistles low under his breath. "Check out the hottie!" Morgan rolls her eyes and plays with her empty coffee mug, throwing it from one hand to the other along the smooth counter top. "C'mon Morgan! Tall-ish, brown hair, dresses like a dork… totally your type!" he whispers. Morgan gives him a look and a smirk.

"How do you know my type?" She hasn't dated since she came to America… actually, ever. Relationships are useless and get in the way; she's much better without them. Eric rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to reply when they're interrupted by the very "hottie" Eric is trying to get her to look at.

"Excuse me, but I was told to come here to ask about an Eric Fitzwilliam?" Morgan turns to glare at the man hovering too close in her personal bubble, lips curling to the side in a scowl that would make any normal person cower, when he says, "I was told he could help me with a set of disappearances in the area."

Morgan turns fully to face him and feels her heart leap into her throat. The man is grinning like a maniac, even as he asks about _disappearances_ of all things. His hair, brown and made even darker by the dim lighting, flops over a broad forehead into wide eyes framed by angular cheekbones and a straight nose. His jaw is strong and softened only by the slightly uneven pout of his mouth, currently stretched into what should be a jaw-breaking grin. His clothes are ridiculous, consisting of a tweed jacket, a striped shirt, tan trousers to match the jacket, and a bright red _bowtie_. But those eyes… those eyes are older than any self-respecting young man should have. Bright green with flashes of gold depending on how he tilts his head, they're piercing and bright, keen with interest and something else, something much darker, much sadder. Those eyes have seen so much, she can just tell from her position on the stool. Her usual five-foot three height (admittedly most of which consists of the heels of her boots) makes it so men tower over her, but for once as she looks up she isn't irritated by his looking down at her. He tilts his head and smiles as he studies her with eyes that should have been new.

But they're not; they're familiar.

Morgan's barely aware that the mug she was tossing earlier just slid off the counter onto the floor, shattering against the tiles below her stool.

The man yelps and backs away, Eric also making a startled noise, but Morgan is riveted, staring at those eyes that have haunted her dreams for years now. The eyes of the dream that drove her from Ireland to be exact. Not always consistent, not every night, but always there, always lingering like a stolen kiss while one is asleep and just rousing. Her pulse pounds beneath her skin, thundering in her veins, as something very confusing sweeps through her blood in a dizzying mixture.

_You're late. Why are you late?_ She should be startled at the thought but for a moment, the words make perfect sense. Where _was_ he?! Nineteen years she waited, and waited, and _waited_ for him, and now he just saunters into her life like this, asking about fuckin' _disappearances_ –

The sudden anger spiking in her chest makes her blink, makes her focus. _What the hell was _that_?_ Shaking her head rapidly to dispel whatever the momentary insanity was, Morgan drops onto her hands and knees to help clean up the mess the boys are already clearing up. "Sorry," she mutters, ducking beneath her thick hair and peeking out from between the waves.

He's staring at her. Curiosity is aflame in those big green eyes, eyes shot through with the trailing gold of stars and cosmic events. Suddenly, when her eyes finally meet his fully, he smiles, a proud beaming grin that teases the softest smile out of the corner of her own mouth. "Well aren't you a beautiful thing," he murmurs, a pale and long hand moving her thick hair out of her face. She's frozen, watching as he examines her. _He called me beautiful_. The thought makes her dizzy, slightly light-headed. But at the same time she somehow knows he's not really calling _her_ beautiful. "I've never seen eyes like that before." And just like that the spell he was weaving is gone.

"They're contacts," she says shortly. The man smiles as if he knows she's lying, sitting back on his heels. Eric is subtly checking over his shoulder at the pair and trying not to smile. Morgan shoots him a look.

"Yes, and I'm sure that tattoo on your back is simply ink below skin," he says, amused and teasingly sarcastic. The hiss that spills out of her mouth startles them both, but she recovers faster. She shoots to her feet and glares down at him, skin paling in her anger. She clenches the shards of porcelain in her hand so tightly that the edges cut into her palm, blood pooling between her fingers.

"Don't know what you're talking 'bout," she growls. "But I do know you need ta leave. _Now_." The man rises, brushing brown locks off his forehead and raising an eyebrow, a little smile hovering over his mouth. She wants to hit it off of him.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, _oh._ I don't take a likin' to strangers pokin' in my business." She glances at Eric, who isn't even bothering to hide his interest in the battle unfolding before him.

"You're Irish." It's not a question but Morgan bristles like it is one.

"And that's considered pokin'. Leave." She reaches out and snags his tweed jacket with her free hand, stomping to the door and dragging him with her. She's strong for her height and sex, and she can see a little bit of surprise flash in his eyes. She feels a momentary satisfaction in that as she dumps the bloody porcelain from her hand into a trash bin so she can push open the door. When she turns to look at him he's not smiling anymore, but frowning. Before she can stop him, he grasps her hand in a strong but gentle clasp. "You're hurt…"

*FLASH*

_They're all dying oh Rassilon they're all dying they're all screaming why did I have to do that, oh God stop it Rose I didn't want you to go I didn't mean to trap you that's not fair if I could turn it round I would and Martha you were so special and I broke you and I'm sorry and I didn't mean to please believe me Donna it was an accident you shouldn't have had to suffer like that you shouldn't have had all of that taken away from you because you're so very important Amy can't you see that can't you see how important you are to me and how much I care and how much I wanted to change everything don't you understand if it hadn't been for me you'd all be safe and happy and you'd have everything but I took that away because I'm a selfish monster and I needed all of you because otherwise I'm just a lonely old man in a blue box…_

*FLASH*

"So are you."

She didn't mean to see. Oh God… Oh _God_… She didn't know… Morgan curls her fingers and slowly draws her hand away, the fight gone out of her. The man watches her warily as she backs away. "You should go," she says, in a softer voice this time. She wonders if he knows what she just saw, what she just took from him. Morgan wonders if he knows what she is.

It would be a nice change for _someone_ to have a clue. God knows she doesn't.

Then the grin is back, light and happy and forced. She doubts she would have noticed it's fake if she hadn't experienced that. "Well, I'll be in touch." He's gone before she can say anything else.

There are a few heartbeats of silence before Eric pipes up. "Well, _that_ was interesting!" She doesn't turn, bloody hand still curled in on itself, fingers loosely touching her palm. "Kind of cute. Can see why you don't date if that's what you do to every guy you're attracted to…" He's goading her but she doesn't respond. She stares down at her hand where he touched her. If she closes her eyes she can feel where his fingers pressed into her palm… She knows now he must have realized what she saw. His concern for her hand… Yes he must have known. He wouldn't have left her wounded.

"He's a soldier." Morgan can feel Eric's shock on her back, dousing her in it. She uncurls her fingers and stares down at blood-drenched skin. Skin that doesn't even have a scar to show the damage that had only been there a minute or less before.

"How do you know that? Have you met him before?" Eric's eager questions berate her ears but she doesn't turn to tell him to stop. All she wants to do is go home and complete her nightly ritual. She's experienced too much today, too many extremes of the emotional scale to deal with this for much longer. Sighing Morgan lets her bloody hand swing by her side. Truth then. Truth will get her out of here faster.

"I don't even know his name."

In her mind, those sorrowful and intelligent eyes beam at her.

* * *

**So, you like? Want me to keep going? Let me know! I have more!**

**-Wolfgirl220**


	2. Something Just Changed Forever

**Hey few (but better than in the past - yeah!)! If you're still reading, which I hope you are, then I hope you enjoy this chapter! Okay, a word on updating; I will be updating every Thursday for a little while, because I have a couple of chapters done but I also have a slew of exams (seriously, anyone wanna let me borrow Einstein's brain? Please? Pretty please?) in literally TWO weeks so... yeah, weekly updates because I have NO idea when I'll have time to write. There will be a chapter every Thursday until I have more time.**

**Hope you enjoy! **

Chapter Two; Something Just Changed Forever

A general rule when dealing with aliens? Don't let them touch you until you know what they are.

The Doctor is still cursing heavily in Gallifreyan a few minutes after leaving the coffee shop. _Damn,_ he thinks with a scowl, walking as swiftly as he can away from the coffee shop and to the TARDIS. _What did she see? _He had certainly felt her brush against his mind, the feeling of feathers over skin dragging across a surface deeper than anyone could reach making him shiver still, but she hadn't plundered like he had expected her to. No, she was there and then gone, the fluttering of a curious, trapped bird and then stillness. He could tell from the wideness of her eyes and the way she had spoken to him after the brief contact that she hadn't meant to do it, whatever it was. A bare brush of minds and she had retreated. The fact that she had even entered his mind like that at all was a surprising feat in itself. Whatever she is, she's strong, and completely unaware of what she can do, what she even _is_.

He's in the same conundrum as her though. Those eyes... The Doctor has never before seen eyes of that particular red before. Wide and scarlet with a thick ring of an almost purple color bordering the iris it was so dark red, they seemed to look straight through him, searching for something he had been previously unaware he possessed. The Doctor frowns, thinking. Those eyes were not malicious like he had often come to associate with that particular hue, but more open, more vulnerable, and more searching than many human eyes. Human she is not but what is she? Absently he rubs his fingers together where he had touched her and startles at the slippery substance coating the digits. With horror he realizes that her blood is still on his hands.

Oh Rassilion! He stops and glares down at his hands, and then turns beseeching eyes back to the way he came. He shouldn't have left her like that, he should go back and help, he should –

"Hey stranger." The Doctor wheels and comes face to face with the boy from behind the bar. He's smirking in a way that the Doctor recognizes from having a certain Torchwood leader on the TARDIS for a time, dark brown eyes flickering over him and then back to his eyes. He pushes slightly longer blonde hair from his face and smiles wider. "Though I think at the moment it's in reverse, yeah?" The Doctor recovers from the sudden appearance – and admittedly unnerving gaze – to address him properly.

"Eric Fitzwilliam." Eric's smile widens. With feigned nonchalance, the concern obvious on his face, the Doctor asked, "Is she, the girl -"

"Alright? Yeah she's fine," Eric replies. He looks amused. "Though I think she'd take issue with being called 'the girl' to be perfectly honest. Might've wanted to ask her name while you were doing that freaky mind connection thing." The Doctor feels his eyes widen involuntarily, but the frown is completely under his control.

"You know what she did?" Eric's amusement becomes more pronounced as he threads his fingers through his belt loops.

"Er… sort of. It's complicated and it doesn't work on everybody. She's figured out part of it, the part _I_ understand, but the rest? Not really. And Morgan's not too keen on finding out how it works exactly, so we're both kind of in the dark there."

_Morgan. Interesting name…_ "Her name's Morgan?"

"Jesus, you two are gonna be a handful," Eric laughs, tilting his head back to peer at the Doctor through playfully narrowed eyes. The Doctor feels himself grow uneasy under the scrutiny. _Two? What?_ Eric takes advantage of his confusion to start talking. "So, preliminaries: I don't know what she is, I only know my job, and I can't tell you anything beyond that. I have my own guesses but I am not allowed to _specifically_ know so don't bother asking. I am human I'm just odd. She is not human but you know that already, and she knows that but she prefers to believe the lie because it's easier. Yes, that tattoo of hers is a nice bit of biotech, though she won't talk about it so don't push her. I was looking into the disappearances because the girls vanishing were similar to Morgan in a way that had me worried about her. No, she is not my girlfriend, I don't like girls and she might as well be my sister. Her house is on East McCarthy Road, little white house balanced on the edge of a cliff, Widow's Walk installed on the second floor, right in front of her bedroom. Can't miss it. Any questions?"

The Doctor's mouth is hanging somewhere by his feet. With an effort he snaps it shut.

"Er… what?" Eric just grins.

"You're here, mate. I just told you everything I am allowed to; you're supposed to just run with it now, like you normally do." The Doctor's eyes narrow. _He seems to know an awful lot about me..._

"Who told you to tell me this?" Eric smirks.

"You'll see."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

The Doctor's frustration mounts as the boy insolently says the same answer over and over. His head is spinning. First the girl and now this? It's too much to process, even with his advanced capabilities, in too short a time. Red eyes flicker in his mind, blinking at him in bewilderment. The Doctor smiles a little wryly to himself. At least he's not the only one confused.

"What kind of game is this?" he demands. Eric shrugs. His dark eyes are curiously bright as he looks at the Doctor.

"S'not a game. I may be following rules, but s'more than that Doctor. Hey, kind of seems like what your companions go through each time, isn't it?" he whistles as the Doctor's mouth falls open again.

He never told Eric his name.

Eric makes to walk way when suddenly he stops and swivels. "Oh yeah, almost forgot. You have until midnight. 'You're in the right time, now you need to be in the right place when the clock strikes midnight,' whatever that means." A quicksilver smile. "Better hurry and figure it out." The Doctor blinks and Eric disappears.

Sometimes he despises being a Time Lord; nothing is in the right order and everything is confusing.

* * *

The Doctor does his best to forget infuriating humans and red-eyed girls as best as he can. He gets back to the TARDIS and stares at the blood draining into the sink with a contemplative expression. On a whim he puts a few droplets of bloody water in a vial that magically appears next to the sink, practically filling it before capping it and finishing cleaning up. When he's less confused and disoriented, more focused and analytic, he can examine it. _I'd like to know what species has eyes the color of blood yet as warm and inviting as the sun. _Now where did _that_ come from?

With a scowl the Doctor snatches the vial and leaves the bathroom, angry with himself and feeling lost. Unfortunately that's become too common of an occurrence since he's been on his own. The familiar ache of the loss hits him again, and he blinks, trying to stay on task. _Stay focused_, he berates himself. _Don't hesitate too long._ If he can keep moving, then maybe…

The Doctor slides back into his normal role, though it doesn't feel right anymore, and proceeds to go over the evidence presented again.

"So," he addresses the console. "Three girls go missing. Same circumstance: the appearance of a black-haired woman in the place of work within twenty-four hours of disappearance, no break-in, and no signs of a struggle. Only reason anyone remembers that she's there is because often people think the two girls could be related. Victim always says no. Next day, girls don't show up for work or class. But why? What connects them? And why try to look like the girl beforehand?" A blast of air warms him, and he smiles at the console. "Ah, so there's something special about the appearance. But the black hair stays… why?" Cold air now. "Hm, sorry dear, I think that's important. I mean, if you could transform completely into somebody, why not do the hair too? That should be relatively simple to do, especially considering that hair is easier than the face. Unless it was an extremely complex and rare color found naturally, in which case if, say, the perpetrator," – _oh that's a fun word I should say it more often _– "was only mimicking and not, say, using a biological human code…" _Click._

Oh. Oh that was _clever_. Very, very clever. Well on his part – whoever had designed the weapon going after the girls was an idiot.

With a grin the Doctor takes the brakes off of the TARDIS. Hopefully the small counties of Maine had sizable closets in their police stations.

* * *

Three trips and two hours later, the time for that particular day is about to come to an end and the Doctor has three photographs of the young women who went missing. Each has a particular hue of hair that without a DNA sequence to compare it to would be almost impossible to copy. The first had light strawberry blonde, the second amber, and the third a shade of brown with a few alleles for red hair color thrown into her genetic code. It's only looking at them side by side that the Doctor realizes they are all gingers. Not so much are they gingers in the sense of actual red hair, but they have enough red mixed in that the color would be quite difficult to replicate. Side by side it's obvious.

With a pensive frown the Doctor rotates the pictures and peer at them. The first girl, the blonde (Susie Kimmell) is turned so the tattoo of bright white wings on her back are obvious. But the others (Angela Canton and Maria Allan) are all positioned so that their backs are hidden from view. "Can't just be the hair, and nothing else is similar," he muses to the TARDIS. "Do you think that they all have similar tattoos?"

An image flashes in his mind then; the odd alien girl's, _Morgan's_, tattoo. With her back turned he had seen the crests of black ink over her thick strapped tank-top. Between the shirt and the heavy fall of her incredibly dark red hair he hadn't been able to tell what it was of though. He had read the bio-feedback from the technology going into it too; the frequency was too low for humans but to him it was like the shriek of a siren. Maybe…

_The girls disappearing were similar in a way to Morgan that had me worried about her._

Red hair. Tattoo on the back, unknown what it was but giving a biofeedback, and in the same place as another victim's. And what had the boy said? Something about midnight... The victims had disappeared in less than twenty-four hours after being spotted with a black haired woman, sometime in the night…

Uh oh.

_Little white house on East McCarthy street._

The Doctor plugs that into the TARDIS as fast as he can and speeds over there.

When he arrives, it's almost midnight. It could be nothing, but Eric's timing was impeccable. Whoever was controlling the strings on this particular little scam might have been trying to warn him of who the next victim was. He'll figure out how they knew – and who _they_ are – later.

Right now he needs to stop a nasty piece of machinery from attacking another girl.

Though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about this _Morgan_. What can he say? Unknown aliens pique his interest.

The house is quiet when he arrives, dark, all the lights gone out as it and its occupant sleep. For some reason he imagined something grander when Eric Fitzwilliam was being cryptic and mysterious. Instead, what's before him is so tiny that he's surprised it has a second floor. The house is old, practically as old as the state itself, but the paint is new and it is well cared for. The door is made of metal and glass, not wood like many older houses. _Fantastic._ The Doctor pulls out his sonic screwdriver and unlocks the door, letting himself in quietly.

Inside it is spotlessly clean, showing the pride of the owner in taking care of the tiny place. A tiled parlor greets him, the floor done in carefully placed blue tiles and the walls whitewashed before tiny little squares of blue ceramic curl in a pattern to represent waves. Outside the little walkway the floors are stained a dark color but are weathered with age and use. It should be too dark to tell what color the walls are, but the enormous window that composes the wall on the far side, over-looking the forest, lets in enough moonlight that he can see the wall are also painted blue. Most of what should be the living room is dominated by a carefully designed kitchen sprawling right up to the couch. He has a sudden flash of the girl cooking here, looking utterly content as she throws ingredients into a pan. Nothing like the curious, then furious, and then terrified but concerned expressions he had seen on her face before play in his mind. Shaking his head suddenly at the ridiculous idea floating in his head – _what does it matter if she cooks, and is happy to do so?_ – the Doctor heads for the stairs.

Upstairs the place is as immaculate as downstairs. The hallway is covered with paintings, most of them water colors, but a few oils of many places he's traveled to himself. _Ireland_. Was she homesick or wistful when she hung these? He knows the difference, he's certainly felt it himself a time or two, and – _ah, damn it! Stop it Theta!_ He needs to stop this fanciful thinking. _You're not taking her with you. No more. Never again. No matter how curious you are about her._ Scowling now, the Doctor listens intently, straining his ears for any sound, any… _There_. Breathing. Slow, deep, and even as she sleeps. Somewhere a clock chimes as midnight comes rolling in. The Doctor goes very still, listening… Nothing happens, even as the clock stops. He waits a few more minutes and then he breathes a sigh of relief as nothing happens. _Okay, so nothing happening, I should go –_

BANG!

"Shit!"

A scream splits the air, and he's running, bursting into the room in time to see a dark shape vaulting off the wall and straight into Morgan, who is sitting upright in bed with an aghast expression on her face. The two forms go tumbling off the bed and onto the floor, out of sight. The Doctor runs around the bed and aims his sonic at the black shape lying on top of her. "Morgan watch out!" he barks, setting the frequency to a level that should be undetectable to her but not to a mimic such as this.

Unfortunately, for a moment, he forgets that Morgan has some impressive biotech on her back.

The mimic shrieks and rolls off of Morgan, writhing on the hardwood floors and scrambling at its face, which is starting to bubble. But Morgan also yelps, curling into a defensive ball with her back exposed. The Doctor has just enough time to process that the tops of the tattoo he saw earlier are the crests of wings, big, black, and beautifully designed – _I was right it _is_ a tattoo that connects them! –_ before her skin starts to stretch, to wrinkle, and then to tear.

He can only watch in open-mouthed shock as the wings burst from her skin, spreading outwards until they seem to fill the room, ebony feathers glossy and shimmering in the moonlight. Morgan pants on the ground, the frequency no longer affecting her to the extent it had before, the tech dispersed enough in her impressive wingspan that it should feel more like an itch than pain. The Doctor shuts it off anyway, enraptured by the beauty before him. The wings spread out, feathers fanning as much as possible to shake out the stiffness from being cramped. Morgan raises her head and glares at him defiantly, though there's a tiny hint of fear in her red gaze. Her eyes seem to glow, the hue similar to the color of roses at their fullest, in the dark. They watch each other, her with trained wariness and him with the awe of the explorer. Yet it doesn't feel _new_, what he's seeing. With her curled in on herself but ready to fight, glorious wings fluttering with tension behind her, there's a sense of familiarity that blindsides him. Morgan's eyes widen almost imperceptibly and he knows somehow she feels the same sense of _knowing_, as if this is something that happens frequently. They stare at one another as ancient forces push and pull, bowing until they are ready to snap with the tension. The Doctor understands that something just changed forever but he can't seem to care, either.

The mimic decides it's been ignored too long.

It latches onto Morgan's wing with a cry of victory. The Doctor yells, vaulting over the bed to help, and Morgan snarls angrily at the hands clasping her wings. The fight becomes a tangle of limbs and wings as two people simultaneously try to grapple with a being that feels like trying to grab oil. They roll across the floor, knocking into furniture repeatedly. Then the Doctor feels a cool hand around his throat, and Morgan cries out as she's thrown half way across the room. The Doctor looks up into blue eyes the color of ice, looking deep into pupils that instead of the normal darkness of eyes shows gears and wires deep within. _A robot mimic!_ he thinks with a touch of glee. The robot-mimic tightens its grip, hissing with Morgan's face as it tries to choke him. The Doctor stops breathing as the respiratory bypass kicks in but there's nothing to do for the crushing pressure. He struggles, pushing hard against its shoulders with all of his strength, but it presses down harder, using his own weight against him to pin him.

And then the clock appears in his peripheral vision.

It's a grandfather clock, beautiful and old, both hands fastened on twelve even as a third hand spins for the seconds. It swings sideways and catches the mimic, crushing it beneath the old weight. There's a moment when sparks fly through the air, blazing blue and angry, before a visible hand falls to the side and everything goes dark. Gasping in not-much-needed air, the Doctor blinks, refocusing the room after the impressions of the sparks begin to gradually fade from his retinas. He sees Morgan kneeling on the clock, dark hair swinging around her face, arms stretched forward and wings expanded to their full length. He watches in fascination as she tenses, breathing deeply. With agonizing slowness she retracts her wings back into her skin, grunting occasionally as she fits them, almost unwillingly, back into their hiding place. The Doctor feels the loss of the sight keenly, wishing she had left them exposed for just a few minutes longer…

Morgan moves so fast he can't follow her with his eyes. One minute she's kneeling on the clock, the next, she's kneeling on his chest and punching him in the face. "OW!" he yowls, clutching his nose and glaring up at her angrily. The spell from earlier is now officially broken, but at least his nose isn't. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"What am _I_ doin'?! What are _you_ doin'?! You break into me house with that, that _thing_, and then you point some weird glowin' device at me! What the _fuck_ is that thing anyway?!" He can't tell if she's referring to the sonic screwdriver or the mimic, and from the expression on her face, he's fairly sure she's so confused _she_ can't tell. There's such an undercurrent of panic on her face, scarlet eyes wide with frustration and anger and fear, that his own anger fades away.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "I didn't know about…" He gestures to her back. "I was just trying to get it off you." Morgan glares at him and he sighs. "Look, I don't what that thing is," he says, indicating the robot-mimic's stiff hand, "Other than it's a robot."

"Yeah, kind of figured that out for meself," Morgan snorts, her accent becoming more pronounced. The Doctor huffs, his chest compressed by her body, and she seems to realize that now that she's not punching him they are in a rather awkward position. Blushing a bright red that could rival her eyes for the definition of _scarlet_, she scrambles off of him. The Doctor smirks a little and she scowls at him, flushing even darker. _She's rather adorable like that…_ Now it's his turn to become red as his vast intelligence recognizes the path he's going down. Pointedly Morgan turns to the robot.

"Okay so this is a robot who happens to look like me and attacks me in the middle of the night when _you_ show up." She turns to glare at him. "Then you do that thing with your magic wand and it forces my wi… won't let me hide." He makes a noise of protest at the _magic_ _wand_ part but she ignores him, stumbling instead over saying _wings_. _Curious_. "Why? Want ta fill in some gaps?"

"Not particularly," the Doctor huffs back, her irritation leaking into him. _Rassilion she's bull-headed._ "I'll just take that and be on my way -"

"Ooooh no you don't! No, you are going to explain what that thing is, who you are, and what is going on, and you are going to do it _now!_"

**Like? Don't like? Let me know!**


	3. And Just Like That, He Stole Her

**I've only got like one review so far and I still like this story and am going to keep posting... Jeez, I need help.**

**Okay! So! I know that the explanation for the robot seems weird and all - cause aren't there other robot mimics that replicate perfectly? - but frankly, every time I see that, I do two things; say it isn't possible, and go "um... wires?" (because I'm going to be pre-health/med, not engineering. Me and machines are a big no no unless you want the printer to become an atomic bomb. Seriously, not kidding, a nearly made my printer blow up trying to switch ink cartridges). So I'm going by what I know and understand, 'cause whenever I look stuff up yo fake it, it never sounds right. So everything I'm doing is stuff I actually understand. Bio and DNA? That I can handle. _Exact_ robot-mimics are impossible without some sort of DNA code to go off of. But features? Easy enough with a picture and artist.**

**I'm sorry if this is confusing right now, but... well... it's confusing for them too. I'm still working out the kinks in the plot - which is part of the whole slow-going thing - but so far it's working okay. Just need to figure out how to incorporate key characters so the end makes sense. Drop me a review, even if it's to yell at me for screwing this up - maybe you'll help me figure out some of the stuff I'm wearing a hole in my lip over!**

Chapter Three; And Just Like That, He Stole Her

The Doctor thought Morgan was bull-headed; he wasn't even close in his assessment of her.

She follows him as he drags the robot out of her house, glaring the whole way and feeling like she's stalking prey. _You are _not_ leaving! Not after I waited – _And right there is the problem. Every step he takes away from her makes her shiver with regret, with desperation, with fear that this is the last time she will see him (_what is Mine cannot run)._ Furious at herself for feeling like this, and at this mysterious man who is _making_ her feel like this, Morgan follows him into a blue box (_know without knowing)_ despite his protests. She barely registers that she is walking into a blue police box with a man and a robot, which should be impossible to fit all three of them.

Morgan is not so angry though that she ignores the inside of the ship.

She stumbles as she steps onto the ramp, hands instinctively catching herself on the rails. Her mouth drops open as she takes in the console room and the man fidgets uncomfortably beneath the smashed robot in his hands. Morgan makes a squeaking noise and backs up, stepping outside to stare at the outside, which is so much smaller than it should be and looks like a blue _box_, and then back inside, where everything is in a warm gold color and absolutely _enormous_. (_A place that is not a place but a place to hold and keep safe in a time that is not a time_) She repeats the action three times while the man tries to repress a smile. "And I thought _I _was weird," she manages. That causes him to frown.

"You're not weird," he protests. Morgan gives him a look and stomps past him, back into the console room. She might be okay with what she _has_, but she knows what she _is_ – a freak. (_A person with no home and many homes)_ But he doesn't need to know that she thinks that of herself. That's her pain, her life, and it doesn't matter how weirdly _right_ this man feels, how much she wants to open her gob and spill her secrets and truths and past – she's not stupid. Who Morgan really is, no one can possibly want. Not in her entirety.

Hesitantly, Morgan approaches the big circular _thing_ in the center while the mystery man smiles slightly and wistfully as she explores. There are knobs and handles and all manners of buttons scattered around her, with a glowing tube that has what looks like big baubles moving up and down the center. When she approaches the keyboard-like device suddenly emits a flurry of purple sparks right in her face. With a shriek Morgan backs away, heart pounding at the fire so close to her. She feels rather than hears the deep chuckle flow through her, resonating in her chest and mind like the vibration of a finely tuned instrument. "Glad you think that's funny," Morgan snaps, glaring at the man. He just looks confused.

"Er… I didn't laugh."

_I did_. _Hello Morgan O'Fey._

The voice is in her mind, feminine and sweet and _old_, older than many stars Morgan would wager. She opens her mouth and suddenly finds she has no voice to speak with. _Shh, sweet warrior, it's alright. Or has been alright. Tenses are hard…_ Morgan makes a squeaking noise around the clamp on her throat and backs away from the console, suddenly registering what exactly is talking to her. The man has gone from looking confused to looking concerned.

"Morgan? Are you alright?" Morgan tries to speak again but the lock is still there, still in her throat, still keeping her mute. She nods instead as panic fluttering in her chest. _Oh God, oh God, oh God, there is a FREAKING BOX in my HEAD!_ More laughter vibrates through her.

_Yes. I am the TARDIS; Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. And you are Morgan O'Fey, the girl of many worlds and of none. I have missed you. Or will miss you… Welcome home my girl. _Just as suddenly as she was there the box – the TARDIS – is gone and fluttering away from her, leaving Morgan back to her own mind.

But not before there's a brush of warm air against her lips, soft, and Morgan is too shocked to move. It's not until the man is grasping her shoulders and shaking her that she regains a semblance of equilibrium and snaps her mouth closed. There's desperation in his gaze as he tries to bring her back around. Instinctively her hands come up and rest on his shoulders, stilling him even though now they are in another awkward position in less than twenty minutes. Her eyes are unfocused as she numbly speaks.

"Oh my God, your box-thing is _alive_," she hisses. "And she _kissed_ me!" The man goes very still, his eyes very wide, before he bursts out laughing.

"Yes, that she is. Though that's the first time that she's… er…"

"Snogged someone?" His face turns red and Morgan smirks. Then she realizes that they are still wrapped around each other, and she blushes too, ducking out from his hands. His fingers brush, cool and terribly comforting, against the ridge of her back, and she shivers with a rush of sensation. (_The skin of the tattoos is the feathers of the wings in cages)_ _Damn wings…_

"Okay, so as pleasant as _that_ was not, fact is I am now in a too small-on-the-outside-that-happens-to-be-alive-box with a robot thingy that tried to kill me and a man that – hang on what's your name?"

"Er, sorry?" He seems amused by her need to speak her thoughts until those thoughts unexpectedly include him. Morgan rolls her scarlet eyes and gestures to him.

"What's your name?" she repeats. (_An algorithm she knows, oh, she knows this, she knows all three…)_ The man smiles a little and readjusts his bow tie before offering his hand.

"I'm the Doctor." Morgan doesn't take it. (_The secret beneath his breast straining against chains and hooks)_

"No you're not." The man blinks, lowering his hand slowly. He cocks his head to the side and narrows his green-gold eyes on her.

"How would you know that? We've never met before today." Morgan shrugs and crosses her arms under her chest.

"No, but I was in your head earlier. Oh don't give me that face!" This was addresses to the incredulous and horrified expression that crosses the man's face. "You knew I was there don't go flippin' on me now! Anyway, that's not your name, that's your _title_ – what's your _name_?" It's the man's turn to become pugnacious, clenching his jaw and crossing his own arms.

"That _is_ my name," he says stubbornly. Morgan snorts at that. _What kind of pompous git chooses _that_ as his name? Especially after all he's been through…_ The thought of even the little bit she saw in the coffee shop makes her heart ache, makes it cry out for the sadness trying to hide in his expression, makes the little organ beg for balm for his wounds. So Morgan grins at him, a teasing light rarely seen entering her eyes. (_Pain lifting through a soft glow)_ The Doctor's mouth twitches as he responds in kind, recognizing the expression on her face and returning it. Her grin widens when she sees that little smile overtake his lips and brighten his whole face.

"A rather stupid one if you ask me," she challenges him, tongue in cheek and eyes sparkling. "Why not Scarface? Now _that_ is a good name!"

The Doctor actually bursts out laughing at her pout and the ridiculousness of a mob name for him. "That's the best you can come up with?"

"E.T. better? I mean you are no way in hell _human_!" The Doctor guffaws and Morgan's heart races happily at the sound. _He's too kind to be so lonely…_

…_and where in the hell did that come from?!_

Reeling from the way something deeper than she can root out seems to be connected with this man who hides behind the title _Doctor_, Morgan isn't focused enough to keep from blurting out her answer when the Doctor teasingly asked, "Alright, lets have it then! What's _your _name?"

"Morgan O'Fey." The Doctor stops laughing abruptly, his expression incredulous and heartbroken as he searches her eyes. She looks away and at the console. A shiver passes through her that has nothing to do with cold. A brush of warm air eclipses her shoulders, and she tries to smile at the gesture of the ship, but it doesn't last long enough. Morgan understands how smart he is, how lonely, how _similar_. He understands more than anyone what it's like to be completely alone even among hundreds of people.

And it scares her, how dangerous that knowledge is.

"Daughter of Fey?" he asks softly. Morgan glances at him, but it's long enough to deduce he _knows_. Knows why she thinks she's strange. Knows she grew up without a clue of what she is. Knows the pain she experienced growing up, an outcast among people who _saw_. And in that one glance she can see he can relate. Clearing her throat, Morgan bounces down the stairs, back turned to him, to the robot he left on the floor when he came rushing up to snap her out of the state she had put herself in. (_God was that only a few minutes ago?)_

She kneels by it, knowing without knowing that he will follow, and turns the face up to her – or what's left of it. Her nose wrinkles in disgust at the blue eyes so unlike her own, at the face half smashed apart to reveal wires and bits of plastic beneath a shiny texture. "Why'd it look like me?" she asks. The Doctor's hand brushes through her hair softly, and she shrinks in on herself, trying to hide from the gentle hands offering comfort. He seems to comprehend that she doesn't like being touched, for he draws his hand away, but he doesn't ask either. She's grateful for that, grateful that she can hide for the moment.

"I don't know. The other girls were also mimicked before they disappeared." He's running his hands through his dark brown hair in a gesture of frustration that she wonders if he realizes he's doing. "Why? It would be easy enough to kidnap all of you – why _look_ like you?"

"How many other girls were taken?" Morgan demands, ice crawling through her veins. The Doctor meets her eyes squarely, jaw popping in agitation. (_Anger, anger because this is his world, they are his to protect, and they were taken_) "Doctor, please." There is demand in her eyes, and plea, and she watches as a single wall in his green eyes caves. He relents but with the feeling that there would be anything he'd rather do. She shouldn't feel so happy that she is given even this little bit of trust, but she is.

Morgan knows without a doubt that she's in trouble.

"Three," he says finally. "Three others. All with variations of red hair. That's the only real connection. Though one had a pair of wings on her back, like yours, but I'm assuming a real tattoo." Morgan nods slowly, digesting this information.

"Was it a DNA thing? Is that why they look like us?" The Doctor is shaking his head before she finishes the thought, eyes narrowed as he surveys the robot.

"No, no it would have looked _exactly_ like you if that were the case. DNA is very specific, and would allow it to exactly mimic you. In each case the hair stays black and the eyes aren't right." He gestures at the robot. Morgan runs through his words again, feeling her eyes widen. "This just raises more questions in the first place -"

"Wait! Say that again!" She holds up her hands to stop him, to make him rethink what he just said. It's an idea, a stupid one, but possibly a brilliant one. (_Hide the blood, oh God, hide the blood…_) Memories of Ireland flash through her mind, and she curses low in her throat. The Doctor just looks more and more confused.

"That just raises more questions -"

"No, you git, the part about DNA!" Awareness flashes in the Doctor's eyes, and he says, very slowly, "DNA is very specific." Morgan rocks forward, grabbing the face of the mimicking robot and twisting hard enough to break the head off. The Doctor yelps but she just holds it up to face her. (_Time is catching up, stroke of midnight, call of home)_

"Say you wanted to find somebody. You want them for some reason, but you don't know who they are or where they are. But you have a DNA sample." She lowers the head and looks the Doctor straight in the eye. "You need a comparison but to go through so many girls? That's too risky, especially to keep them near you if you want to hide what's going on." She muses all of this to him, experience reminding her of the lengths people would go to find the truth.

The lengths _she_ used to go to for a truth she didn't want anymore.

"So, you send out someone else, or _something_ else, to come back with a DNA sample of potentials. A perfect mimic of a robot. Because then you can compare the DNA sample _and_ you have a point of reference for what the person looks like, not just a possible genetic match. So you collect the one you want, have the others pop back up a little worse for wear but otherwise unharmed, and no one's the wiser. Safer and easier than going through so many and having to get rid of bodies."

No, she is not intensely proud of the amazement and impressed look the Doctor throws her. Not at all. Her heart just feels like being annoying with her pulse today.

"That's… that's brilliant." He says this in a light tone but the gravity of the admission is nearly crushing, a delightfully warm pressure she barely masks him from seeing. Morgan shrugs and sets the head down, hands still braced on it. She fights the urge to kick it across the room.

"You're smart, you would'a figured it out eventually. Besides," she points out cynically. "What if I'm wrong?" His hand eclipses hers on the head of the robot, gently covering her fingers. She looks down at where the long fingers brush rhythmically over hers in a consoling yet eager touch, the flesh cool. _I've always liked the cold… _Morgan purposefully splays her fingers to avoid the touch after only a few rapid heartbeats, and the Doctor grimaces a little.

"You might not be."

"And if I am?"

"Then we figure out something else." Her eyes widen comically at his admission and in that frozen second he snatches the head from underneath her fingers and leaps to the console.

_We?_

"Come along Morgan! Allons-y!" She scrambles to her feet and jumps after him, darting over to the console and him. She watches in amazement as he reaches into the head.

"_What_ in God's name are ya doin'?" she demands. The Doctor grins at her even as he rummages in the head. It's more than a little disturbing to see him grasping around in a replica of _her_ face, even if there is something very wrong with that face and half of it is missing. His gleeful expression makes her wary and smile and frustrated and just as gleeful all at once. It's a confusing mix.

"Looking for a homing device! Only way to know if you're right is to find them." He grins in triumph and snags a weird looking spider thing, ripping it from the skull with more than a little viciousness. Morgan raises a dark brow but doesn't comment. (_Monster in each of us, claws for blood, screams for pain, can't be tamed)_

"Okay…." She watches as he plugs in the spider thing to what looks like the port of a computer. A noise echoes in her head and instinctively she grabs the console with both hands. The action comes just in time too, for almost instantly there's a shaking, and with a lurch in her chest Morgan realizes the box is _moving_, and rather chaotically at that. Mindful that the machine is _alive_, she doesn't press down as hard as she'd like for fear of hurting the blue box moving them about. The TARDIS laughs her strange psychic laugh again and blasts Morgan with hot air until she reflexively grips the console so hard she can feel the plastic and metal begin to bend a little under her fingers. Amazingly the machine doesn't break like she expected it to. There's a rush of incredulous but amused waves coming from the TARDIS, a feeling of _I don't break easily_, even though the ship doesn't bother to speak the words. Morgan finds herself smiling in a way she hasn't since she was very young, beginning to laugh as they hurtle through space, and if she's not mistaken, _time_ itself. When she dares to look up she finds the Doctor watching her with an almost wistful expression on his face. But there's pain there, centuries worth of it as he contemplates the inevitable.

And just like that, he stole her.

Morgan knows this hasn't been the first time someone has been pulled onto the TARDIS. Hell she _felt_ some of those people, a permanent imprint on his mind and heart of all these others who came before her. And she knows that they're gone now, stolen or broken or killed or lost. With that knowledge comes the certainty that this won't be easy. Traveling with the Doctor, living with him, means danger. It means constantly looking over her shoulder and waiting for the next attack, the next battle, the next war to come knocking. It means adventure and giving up the restraints that grounded her. It means she will never again be back on Earth a normal girl.

Morgan O'Fey has _never_ been normal, and has _always_ liked a good fight.

The smile she gives back to the Doctor isn't afraid at all. Hesitant a little, but there's fierceness there, a surety that this is what she wants. The Doctor's smile becomes less wistful but no less sad. Even more so now, because he can tell that it would take more than he has to make her turn away from this opportunity. No more flying through the sky in the dead of morning to make the day a little easier. No more just _reaching_ for the stars.

No more being alone.

The TARDIS laughs at the stubbornness of her latest occupant. _Welcome home_.

**I had to do the TARDIS bit. I think she's a lot more aware than even the Doctor realizes - she just likes to mess with him, the naughty ship! ;) Besides, at this point, I think she'd be pretty damn sick of the Doctor being alone and would decide to take matters into her own hands to keep Morgan around. I know I would. So, yes, the TARDIS is very important.**

**I will not drop Ireland. That's going to be a HUGE plot-line, with lots of references, and lots of flashbacks especially when a certain someone shows up.**

**Like? Don't like? Let me know!**

**- Wolfgirl220**


	4. Well, That's Anticlimactic

**I am SO sorry this is late! To be fair I just finished my last A.P. exam today (oh God now I know why everyone thought I was nuts for taking so many...) and have been pretty tired/studying. No excuse, I know, I'm sorry.**

**Sorry too for this chapter; I kind of hate it but it wasn't going to cooperate no matter what I did. Sorry.**

**The next chapter is about half-way done but I might not be able to get it up Thursday (busy week and all). If not I promise I'll have it up by at MOST Saturday! The next one's good, I promise! It's actually a lot of fun...**

**Ack, spoilers! Onto the chapter!**

Chapter Four; Well, That's Anticlimactic

"So, where and when are we?" Morgan's bright rose-red eyes are flickering over the Doctor and then to the door with barely contained excitement. The TARDIS only stopped moments ago but she's already vibrating, showing a need to explore and fight that he hasn't seen in… actually he has _never_ seen in any companion before first thing. The Doctor wants to laugh at her bright eagerness, at the way she's bouncing back and forth on her bare heels and rolling her shoulders like her wings are going to burst through with her emotions. And he must admit, he's more than a little surprised – and impressed – that she asks _when_ as well.

"When?" he teases her. She shrugs and gestures to the console with fingernails coated in black polish with the air of someone both sure and wary of the answer.

"That's what she said: _Time and Relative Dimension in Space._ It's a flying time machine, right?" The Doctor looks curiously at the console, something flaring in his chest. He can't name the emotion roiling inside of him; all he knows is his time machine, his beloved TARDIS, is _talking_ to someone. She _never_ talks to companions – she barely talks to _him_. Yet this girl, this person of indeterminate species, is important enough that the caprices of the TARDIS deemed Morgan O'Fey worthy of being spoken to.

There is no way he is going to let her go now.

"Ah, yes, she is… yes, she is a time machine," he stutters out. Morgan smiles with something akin to relief.

"Where's the nearest closet?"

"What?" Oh she knows how to throw him for a loop this one. First it's _when_ and now it's _closets_? He feels his eyes widen and Morgan rolls her in response. She lifts one foot awkwardly to show him her bare feet, wiggling them to make a point. "I _can_ kick a groper in the bullocks so hard he loses a testicle with bare feet, but it hurts and I don't want to break my ankle again; it never sets right. So, shoes? And possibly a new shirt because this one's kinda ripped." The Doctor looks over her torso and finally registers that her pale grey tank top is only hanging on by a few threads. The fabric ripples and pools to one side as it desperately hangs onto her athletic frame. Stammering a little he points out the direction of the nearest closet. She smiles at his blush, says thank you, and leaves quickly.

_I like her._ The Doctor groans as the TARDIS speaks to him, thumping his head against his hands hard enough that he feels his brain rattle a little.

"Why?" he demands gruffly. "She's stubborn, she's aggressive, she doesn't answer questions and she waltzes all over the place like she owns it all. _Why_ do you like her so much?" He feels the laughter of the TARDIS roll through him, deep, unendingly amused and just a little smug. He knows she won't tell him the _real_ reason that Morgan is so fascinating. His Sexy knows all that has happened and all that will happen, as she stretches across the entire universe and the entirety of time itself. She probably even knows what species Morgan is. So why does his TARDIS like the odd little alien woman-child so much?

_Because she reminds me of you._

Well, he walked right into that one, didn't he?

"So, where and when are we?" The Doctor is startled as Morgan's voice floats back to him. He expected her to take a long time to pick out clothes and figure out what to wear. She's barely been gone three minutes. Once he gets a good look to it's hard to look away.

His latest companion seems to understand that this isn't some festive trip and that skirts would only become a hindrance – or she doesn't like them, which is entirely possible too, judging from her personality. She's wearing a dark blue tank-top like thing that flows almost seamlessly into a pair of snug black cotton pants tucked into big black combat boots. In one hand she holds a long curved dagger with a large blue gem on the handle. The scabbard is securely attached to Morgan's hip so she can quickly sheath it if need be. Her blood-red hair is carefully thrown into a pony-tail with a headband holding back any stray strands. She looks like an avenging angel disguised as Lara Croft.

"That was quick," the Doctor say a little numbly. Morgan shrugs and quickly jogs over to him, that bright smile still fixed on her lips.

"Found the closet and got dressed. Found this, too." She shows him the dagger. He notices the faint blue gleam on the edges of the blade and feels his heart clench. The psychic energy surrounding the dagger is thick, almost terrifyingly so, built with rage and determination from species who focused on the mind more than anything else. _A Gallifreyan weapon? Where in the bleeding hell did she get _that_? I could have sworn I locked all of those away…_ "Hope you don't mind, but after the last one…" She looks nervous as she chews her lip, and the Doctor frowns. He hates weapons and violence and not being able to understand what's going on. He takes the blade from her, carefully so as to not hurt her, and holds it at his side instead. Morgan scowls a little but he ignores that.

"You won't have to use that" the Doctor tells her. Morgan's scowl deepens.

"And the right side of your mouth twitches when you lie. Give it back." He's too surprised – _my mouth doesn't twitch!_ – to stop her from taking the long knife back when she lunges for it, and she sheathes it with a glare. "I won't use it unless I absolutely have to, but I'd prefer not to be a robot's twin thanks." The Doctor scowls just a fiercely as she does, but she doesn't back down. He finds himself fascinated by that sheer determination that makes her look directly into his eyes, heedless of how dangerous he can be. Or maybe she just isn't afraid of him. _Even Amy would…_ He pushes the thought firmly away and refuses to focus on it. Morgan is still glaring at him, impressively intimidating for a girl of barely four foot-eleven when not in boots, and he has to admire that. With a huff _he_ relents, gesturing for her to proceed in front of him. Morgan loses the anger and smirks a little as she waltzes right out of the TARDIS doors onto the latest adventure. She stops and grimaces when she sees she's in a plain white hallway, like those of a hospital. "Well, that's anticlimactic," she mutters.

The Doctor, however, isn't paying attention; it wasn't until she turned around that the Doctor realizes her back is completely exposed, the black wings so painstakingly etched into her skin on display for everyone to see. He finds his eyes roaming the smooth expanse of skin in a haze before he snaps out of it with a jolt and an angry frown. _Rassilon, get a hold of yourself! You're acting even worse than you did with Ro… _Again he finds himself having to quickly backtrack before memories can engulf him.

The Doctor rushes to follow her and abandon his memories, pulling on her arm a little to make her slow down and drop back behind him. Morgan glares at him and refuses to fall back completely, walking silently beside him. The playfulness in her face is gone, rose colored eyes flickering rapidly from side to side. One hand rests on the hilt of her knife while the other is tapping her leg in a rhythm that if the Doctor's hearing isn't too off indicates her heartbeat. He's not sure if it's a relief that the beat is o slow or if that is disturbing in and of itself.

"I don't want violence," he tells his red-headed companion. Morgan nods sharply, eyes never stopping. She even turns a few times to look behind them to make sure that there's nothing creeping up on them. "I hate it you know. So unnecessary."

"I know," she replies absently. "But you wouldn't have survived the Time War without violence, so it's not _completely_ unnecessary." They both freeze at that for entirely different reasons. The Doctor's mouth drops open and he tries to even stutter but can't. _She knows… How… When… What?!_ Morgan looks confused and frustrated instead, gripping her knife tighter. "God damn it…" she murmurs. "Not again."

"How do you know about the Time War?" the Doctor demands, suddenly angry because he's afraid. No one, _no one_ who hasn't fought beside him knows about the Time War. And what's more, the way Morgan speaks about it hints that she knows about his actions in it in a way that indicates she knows much more than should be humanly possible. With a wry start he realizes that that is exactly it – Morgan _isn't human_. She looks human, but she most certainly isn't. Her wings and eyes aside she could easily pass as one, just as he could. The Doctor is going to examine that damn blood of hers when they get back to the TARDIS with the girls safely in tow; anyone who can glean that much from a single touch is a rather dangerous individual, especially since she simply eased into his mind without even being hindered by his shields.

"I don't," Morgan says flatly. She won't meet his eyes though, he can't help but notice that. "I mean, not really… look, it's complicated, yeah? I have no control over that _thing _I do so… God I don't know how to explain it," she finishes with a groan. "Basically, it only works on soldiers."

"Soldiers?" the Doctor echoes with a skeptical frown. _That's rather specific for such a unique gift…_ Morgan shrugs. "You go waltzing into the mind of soldiers at a whim?" She throws him an irritated look and shakes her head, ponytail whipping her shoulders repeatedly.

"No, of course not! I already told you I can't control it! If someone touches my hand – DOCTOR LOOK OUT!" She doesn't finish the thought, grabbing him by the front of his tweed jacket and jerking him backwards, towards her and the wall. Just in time too, for there's the sudden ripping sound of electricity and the smell of ozone permeates the air. They both turn, wide eyed, to a scorched spot where the Doctor had been not only a moment ago. A strawberry blonde woman at the end of the hallway grimaces and struggles to re-aim a large black weapon with spikes rotating around a cylinder. The Doctor makes a choked sound seeing Susie Kimmell, one of the missing girls, glaring at them.

"Damn body," Susie mutters, her arms shaking to hold up the gun. "Honestly, Earth girls are so weak, wouldn't you agree?" She fires again, this time coming too close to Morgan's head for comfort. The Doctor and Morgan bolt, running from the clone even as she curses and tries to fire again. The Doctor takes Morgan's hand even as she protests and runs inhumanly fast for the end of the hallway. For the first time in a number of generations he doesn't have to slow down for a physically inferior species; Morgan not only keeps up much better than any of his human companions ever could but she outstrips him, yanking on his arm for him to hurry up. Another bolt grazes their heels as they sprint for the end of the hallway, bypassing the TARDIS completely in their haste. When they turn and scramble back for it a warning shot herds them back down the hall, ushering them to leave the sanctuary. The Doctor tries to shield Morgan as much as he can but Morgan growls and pulls him along with more irritation.

The Doctor and Morgan run down the hospital-like corridors with a robot clone in hot pursuit. The Doctor drags his latest companion down a hallway that branches off, buying them precious seconds. Instead of nothing this time there's a large metal door looming on the far wall. It's of course locked; a flick of the Doctor's wrist with his screwdriver and they're pushing their way through to the other side, slamming the door behind them. Morgan drops his hand, fingers still tangled with his, like it did her a personal offense, scowling and muttering the whole while in Gaelic. The Doctor gives her a curiously irritated glance.

"You shouldn't have done that," she mutters darkly when she sees his eyes on her. The Doctor scowls in response.

"What, saved your -"

"Who the hell are you two?" The two whirl around, instinctively closing in together. Facing them are three girls that the Doctor immediately recognizes. Susie, Angela Canton, and Maria Allen are staring at them with a mixture of suspicion and fear. Angela is in the front, more brazen than the other kidnapped girls as she glares at them. Morgan raises her hands in a gesture of surrender, nudging the Doctor with her elbow when he just stares.

"Oh, you're alright, thank goodness. This is Morgan and I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor Who?" Maria asks from Angela's side, fearful but curious. The Doctor smirks a little and Morgan rolls her eyes in annoyance. _I will never tire of this._

"Just the Doctor."

"Yes, but…"

"Oh for God's sake! He's here to help, isn't that enough?" Morgan demands. She punches the Doctor lightly in the arm and he grimaces at her, equally annoyed. She ignores him and casts an appraising glance over the girls. "Is everyone alright?"

"Aside from being kidnapped, chased around by robot mimics, having our hair ripped out, and being herded into a cage by a chick in armor?" Angela demands. Morgan scowls at the tone and starts to retort when the Doctor claps a hand over her mouth to stop her. She huffs and bucks her head away but she goes quiet.

"Chick in armor?" he echoes, confused and intrigued. Maria nods and a rather shaken Susie answers him.

"Yeah. Showed up and locked the door abut twenty minutes ago. Didn't say anything either." The Doctor cocks his head and tries to think that one through. Morgan seems curious as well but doesn't say anything, looking over the girl's critically. They're pale and tense but otherwise unharmed. She walks forward and takes Angela's hand, startling the girl. Instantly the Doctor realizes what she's doing. Angela, who does not, yelps and tries to duck away but Morgan doesn't let go. Morgan's eyes close and when she opens them there's something hard in her gaze. The Doctor reaches for her, and she turns to him, but is careful to avoid his touch. Her eyes are slightly unfocused as she sorts through the information.

"She's right," the alien girl tells the Doctor. "There's a woman in armor, and the other mimics have transformed already. Something's wrong though; the building is on full alert." The Doctor nods and pulls out his screwdriver, pacing by the wall repeatedly and musing to himself as he scans.

"Oh that's clever," he says, reading the signal. All four women watch him, three with amazed terror and one with impatient agitation. "There's a signal control the mimics," the Doctor explains. "It's coming from this building but it's only been routed through here; whoever's controlling them might not even be on this planet."

"Great," Morgan mutters. "So where are we exactly?" The Doctor gives her a look as the other girl's exclaim over the word _planets._ He suddenly grins, knowing that she's going to hate this. Somehow he knows even though he's known her for less than twenty-four hours. His world is simply crazy like that.

"Maine." Morgan starts and then narrows her eyes. She growls in frustration as the Doctor laughs.

"Couldn't even get off planet, this is ridiculous…"

"I'll take you to space Florida next," he promises. She snorts but then refocuses on the task at hand. The three girls are silently watching them in mute terror. Morgan says something to Maria while the Doctor moves around the room, scanning enthusiastically with his screwdriver. The little device has picked up another signal, this one much closer. The little homing device in the skull of the mimic he ripped apart to get here suddenly flares right above his head. He waves his sonic at the ceiling a few times and then clucks his tongue.

"Morgan can you fly me to the ceiling?" Morgan turns from the girls and raises her eyebrows at him.

"Yeah, why?"

"Flying?!" Susie shrieks as Angela tries to hold her. "Planets and robots and now _flying?!_ What _is_ this?! What _are_ you people?!" Morgan ignores her and rushes over to the Doctor.

"Did your wand thingy pick up somethin'?" she asks him. He nods and looks to the three terrified girls. Morgan can fly him up easily enough, he's sure of that, but three panicking girls might be a bit much for the two of them to handle in a cramped ceiling. The Doctor makes a rapid, trusting choice in his latest victim, looking into her rose colored eyes with earnest green-gold orbs. Morgan blinks as though startled by whatever she sees but she predictably doesn't relent.

"Can you watch them while I take care of this?" he asks her in a rush. She nods without a word but she doesn't look happy.

"Sure you know what you're doing?" she hedges. He smirks and nods.

"Absolutely."

"Liar." But she unfolds her wings easily, rolling her shoulders back and letting them slide out of her skin to stretch out at her sides, beautiful and black and bewitching. The feathers shook themselves slightly, long and glossy, before snapping in place. Behind her there are shrieks of surprise and fear from the other occupants of the room. Morgan chooses to pretend they aren't there but the Doctor can see the wince around her eyes. He understands more than he could ever know; not everyone is exactly accommodating to the idea of aliens. Not everyone has grown to like _what_ he is, either. He grabs her shoulders, mindful of where the skin separates into her wings, and offers her an encouraging smile. Her rose red eyes search his for a moment before she nods. She grips his waist with a strength that a mere slip of a woman shouldn't have and carefully beats her wings. That's all it takes to take them up into the air, hovering in almost stillness as Morgan carefully maneuvers so he can reach the ceiling. She grips his waist so tightly that if he were human he would bruise, but it's enough to let him reach up without fear of falling and glide a tile in the ceiling back so he can pull himself through. Morgan catches his ankle before he can get too far away, forcing him to look down. Her red eyes are wide and anxious as she begs, "Be careful."

The Doctor grins and nods at her, waiting for her to let go. She does with great reluctance, gliding back down to the girls. The look on her face when the tile slides back cuts deeply in a way he doesn't expect. It startles him enough he can't stop the determination slipping into his hearts to come back to her, to wipe that look off of her face.

The Doctor is falling down dangerous and rather familiar pathways.

With his screwdriver pointed in front of him the Doctor crawls on his hands and knees through the ceiling of the building in Maine. Frequently he checks the signal, straining his acute hearing for any hint of a noise. There's nothing, not even an echo of his clothed flesh slapping the metal tiles of the ceiling, creating a rather eerie effect even by his standards. His hearts race as the signal draws him farther and farther into the depths of the building, trailing after a few sound waves. The Doctor thinks of Morgan, of his latest and possibly fiercest companion yet. Was she alright? Were the other girls giving her trouble for being alien? Was Morgan giving _herself_ trouble, fretting over what they would think? Her last name was still a knife in his heart every time he heard it. Who in the name of _sanity_ had called her _that_? In Maine her surname probably meant next to nothing, but in Ireland, where the stories of changelings and fair folk had resisted the efforts of the Catholic Church to demolish them for centuries, that name would give people pause. Would make people notice all of the things about Morgan that simply weren't human. And in Ireland, where the old magic still flows and the Moors hold secrets, that could be an extremely very not good thing.

The beeping of the sonic screwdriver interrupts the Doctor's morose thoughts, and he stops, giving it a critical glance before clamping it between his teeth and shifting the tile he's on so he can drop through to the floor. It's a bit of a drop, and he lands rather painfully on his arse before he bounces back up, but otherwise it's a pretty smooth entrance (especially for him). Unfortunately no one is around to see that entrance. Or actually fortunately… The Doctor shakes his head rapidly and dashes over to the computer situated in the middle of the room in a flurry of movement, fingers already beating away at keys and sonic screwdriver whirring. File after file pops up dejectedly but without a sound as he works. One is a rather interesting analysis of DNA segments, comparing the entire planet's population to a broken down strand of DNA with several sections missing. Four matches appear alongside it, but each flash with a warning sign in flowing symbols for letters: INCOMPLETE. So, much of the DNA identified through the rather advanced systems is perfect, but the actually sample itself is compromised. Interesting.

Morgan was right, and whoever or whatever is behind this has quite the financial backing to afford this kind of equipment. _Alien_ doesn't even begin to describe the complexity he's reading here.

His screwdriver beeps angrily, and he glances at it with a heavy Gallifreyan curse. _A looped signal so even if it _is_ tracked it leads right back here. Oh that's clever. _Shaking his head in grudging admiration the Doctor plugs the sonic into a port on the computer to download everything he finds. Simultaneously he pulls up video footage of the corridors and rooms so he can keep an eye on Morgan and the other girls. Instead of seeing them though, he sees a small figure strutting through the hallways in a shining suit of polished armor. He feels his eyebrows shoot up in absolute surprise at the proof. "Okay, so this is _extremely_ very not good," he mutters. The knight is leisurely pacing the halls, a bow with no arrows clutched loosely in one hand. He flicks through the footage and feels his hearts sink when he sees that Morgan, knife unsheathed and glistening ominously, and the girls are running through the same hallway a ways off. Morgan's face has oil smeared on one side and Maria is clutching her arm. Not thrity seconds later a pair of robot-mimics, one barely holding her face together and the other missing a hand, follow right after them. "Damn it!" The Doctor rips his screwdriver out of the computer and shoots out of the room, desperate to get to his latest companion before she barrels headlong into that knight and gets cornered. His hearts are clenching repeatedly at the thought of what could happen to her, and so very soon after he _found_ her…

He should have never left her alone.

Gunfire interrupts any thoughts he has of that. It's easier to find them with the source of noise, his instincts telling him Morgan will be right in the middle of that, but he still barely comes on them too late. Maria, Angela, and Susie are ducking by the wall, Morgan's wings outspread to protect the girls and her arms raised to protect her face. The bullets are shredding what's left of the robots even as he approaches them. They stop when the Doctor enters the hallway, the last dull clang echoing through the vast space. Morgan's wings don't retract but she lowers her arms slowly, fury in the contours of her smudged and angular face. The Doctor, bewildered and growing steadily angrier, strides over to her and grasps her shoulders, moving her so she's behind him and out of harm's way. The Doctor whirls to face the next onslaught, expecting a gun wielding knight…

And is instead faced with a knight impassively standing in front of a hoard of UNIT soldiers.

"Whoa! Easy there, Doctor," a man calls out. He pulls back his visor and lowers his gun. "Just coming in on a rescue mission. No harm." The knight in front of the man straps the bow to its back but otherwise doesn't move. Morgan, on the other hand, is frantically trying to get around the Doctor. He won't let her even look over his shoulder (which is rather difficult to do anyway considering her height impairment), eyes trained on that knight.

"Who the hell are these guys?" she demands angrily. The Doctor hushes her.

"UNIT." Morgan stills and then snorts.

"You mean that useless alien division -"

"Not useless here, darling, considering we just saved your arse," the man reminds Morgan. She scowls and the Doctor smirks a little. The knight shakes its head and chuckles so lowly he can't tell if it's a man or a woman. Strange… "We got this, Doctor," the man says to the Doctor. "You're free to go; we'll make sure these girls get home."

* * *

It has been the weirdest day of the Doctor's life. And that's saying something.

He leans against the console, the TARDIS and Morgan O'Fey tucked safely away in the Time Vortex, and sighs a great gust of unnecessary oxygen. Morgan grips the console tightly, eyes turned up to the TARDIS in wonder. "She's really somethin', ain't she?" she breathes, hands stroking the metal affectionately. The Doctor frowns. She's not asking questions. She's not demanding to know what he is. She's not panicking over what happened. She is totally relaxed, if a little dirty. She doesn't care about the knight, who randomly appears after her. She barely questions that UNIT - who she herself called useless - magically appeared right when they were needed. She has a friend who cryptically knows what's going on. She has wings like black silk that can disappear into her back. She can get into his head without trying. She knows more about him and his TARDIS than he is _remotely_ comfortable with.

She acts like she knows him.

He feels like he knows her.

He's terrified and angry and relieved and skeptical and hopeful and _everything_ all at once. And he wants to know _why_. What _is_ she?

Morgan feels his eyes on her, and turns her own innocent rose-red eyes towards him, her full lips softly pursed as if she's going to ask him a question. She tilts her head and her ponytail falls in bewitching maroon waves over her creamy white skin. Her eye dart over him as she studies him, as if that way she can glean the reason for the stare. The Doctor strides over to her, slowing to a stop a few feet from her. Even then she has to tilt her head up to look at them – the height difference is that great.

"Morgan, I have questions. And I want answers to them."

**Ah, but will you GET them Doctor? Ha ha like? Don't like? Let me know!**


	5. Quid Pro Quo, Clarice

**Hi all! Sorry this is late! Jeez, I'm bad at schedules... any hoo, enjoy this! I had a LOT of fun writing this chapter**

_**Quid pro quo,**_** in case you didn't know, is from _Silence of the Lambs._ Probably did, I'm just covering my bases.**

**The black rose bit just sprung out of no where, but I think it's a fitting resemblance to both Morgan _and_ the Doctor, when you think about it.**

**Onto the chapter my lovely followers!**

Chapter Five: Quid Pro Quo, Clarice.

Morgan glances anxiously at the Doctor, and then back to the console. The determination in his face speaks volumes about how doggedly he is going to pursue this, pursue _her_ until he has ripped the truth out of her. With a sinking heart Morgan realizes that there is very little chance she can get away from this. While it might _feel_ like he has stolen her already there is still a very good chance he will chuck her out on her ear if he thinks she's a threat to him. (_Absurd, would protect, crow and raven alike screaming for the heart and soul_) Morgan wants to stay so very, very badly that her chest literally aches with the thought that it can be ripped away from her before she even has a chance to enjoy it. Morgan can feel his unwavering older-than-they-should-be green-gold eyes on her, and she shivers, the sensation of layers being continuously peeled off of her until her soul is bared to him making her cold and uneasy.

She doesn't do this. Eric is her best friend but even he knows very little about her and her life. She doesn't do heart-to-heart chats and she doesn't trust people. (_Want want oh Mother and Father want to safe to need to_) Telling the Doctor, who has his own secrets and darkness inside of him – secrets that she now guards within her own breast – should be even more dangerous than the average person; he could _do_ something about her secrets, her abilities, and her life. She has no doubt that given the opportunity the Doctor will search relentlessly for the truth of her. Morgan's heart hammers in her chest at the thought of going down that particular pathway again. She made the mistake of being consumed with the need for answers once. She has no intention of doing that again. Memories of Ireland and the ensuing desperation to even _survive_ the night she decided to leave wash over her and she grips her elbows in a reflexive, comforting gesture. No, she can't go looking for the truth again.

But that's why Morgan's so afraid; because even knowing that the Doctor won't stop until he knows exactly _what she is_, she _wants_ to talk to him. She doesn't do heart-to-hearts but in the space of a heartbeat she is willing to pour forth every dark thought in her head to this man she has known for less than twenty-four hours. Morgan wishes desperately she was fighting that robot – any of them – again rather than facing this situation, facing all of her walls that have so long protected her crashing down around her ears and eyes. _I hate you_, she thinks, more desperately than with any sort of conviction. The Doctor is still watching her, eyeing her as it were, expectantly. Morgan wonders fleetingly if any other companions of his have caved like this under his unwavering green-gold eyes. _It's so unfair,_ she thinks in a near-panic when he raises a thin eyebrow, _that he wants all of my secrets when he bristles if I so much as mention some of his –_

_(What is mine is yours and yours is mine)_

Morgan's thoughts screech to a stop. _Impasse!_ A way to get him to stop prodding! Oh finally. Even if he still demands answers and is unwilling to share himself then she can firmly say it's his own fault that she doesn't spill her guts. It's a dangerous game she's about to play but it's better than being forced to surrender so completely like he expects. Triumphantly she turns back to him, her pony-tail hitting her shoulders as she does, a slight smirk on her lips. The Doctor' gaze becomes instantly wary at the sight of that. "Quid pro quo Clarice!" she states with a smug quirk of her mouth. The Doctor blinks in shock.

"What?" he asks, flabbergasted. Morgan's confidence wavers but her smug smile does not.

"Quid pro quo Clarice," she repeats. At his blank look, she starts, "It's from this movie -"

"I know where it's from," the Doctor almost snaps, irritation creeping into his voice. His restless limbs are firmly locked at his side now. Morgan glances at them (_body language is a warrior's downfall_) but refuses to back down. Stubbornly she raises her chin and glares back at him. "What I don't understand is what you're suggesting."

_Not suggesting you git_. She doesn't say that part out loud of course. Instead, with practiced movements she tosses her hair and straightens her shoulders defiantly. "You want to know about my life, I want to know what it is I saw in that place. _Quid pro quo_ – an answer for an answer." The Doctor's green-gold eyes immediately harden (_building a wall from fear and not anger_) and his mouth tightens.

"No," he says in an impassioned voice. "Not going to happen Morgan." Morgan immediately bristles at the condescending note in his voice. _Fuck you asshole._ Her instinctive need to punch and kick rises and she barely restrains it. Nothing raises her ire better than being treated as a lesser being. She spent her entire childhood experiencing that snide disdain and she absolutely refuses to endure it any longer.

"Well then forget me explainin' anythin'!" she says hotly, accent thick as honey in her voice. "This is _my_ goddamn life you're pryin' inta and I don't appreciate it one bit! Ya want me to talk, then ya gotta talk too!" He looks startled at her declaration, and she feels a bit of pride in being able to catch the impressive man off guard. (_A lord has met his lady)_ But she can also see that he is beyond reluctant to expose any part of himself. Morgan waits, agitated but patient, as the Doctor's mind whirls.

But when he says, "Any other rules?" her mouth drops open. Not for a second did she actually expect him to acquiesce. She shuts her mouth to hide her shock but she can see a glimmer in his eyes that boldly says he knows _exactly_ what he's done. Her eyes narrow. _Two can play at this game._

"You have to answer my question," she says bluntly. "I have to answer yours." There's a bit of teasing hidden in the corner of the Doctor's eyes now.

"I think we've established that," he says with a hint of joviality. She ignores that.

"You can't ask me why I'm afraid of certain things, and under no circumstances can you ask me why I left Ireland. This ends the minute you do." The teasing vanishes and she cringes internally at allowing him to see how painful that particular memory is. But it's better than being forced to answer if he _does_ ask her about it. He opens his mouth to object but she holds up a hand to stop him. "You cannot lie. I'm telling you now that I won't and I expect the same –"

"Then you can't ask me about the Time War," the Doctor interrupts. "Or my previous companions. I _will_ lie if you do." _(Pain so deep that it blackens the soul)_ Of course he had to take away the one topic she _did_ want to ask him about, but then, he was probably dying to ask her about Ireland and she took that away from him. Only fair. She nods in acceptance and a small part of him relaxes.

"Well, come along then Fairy-Girl," the Doctor says, going for somber, but his mouth twitches around the tone in an impish smile. Morgan snorts and allows him to lead her into the TARDIS depths. _I'd pound anyone else who tried to do that,_ she muses to herself silently. She should be thinking of questions, because this is rapidly going to be the most painful experience of her life, but her mind drifts instead to what this _is_. She has never met anyone like this, who just sort of… _fit_. She should be terrified – she _is_ – but not the way she would be with anyone else. Morgan _should_ prefer being chucked out of the TARDIS rather than tear down the steel structure protecting her, but instead, she's willing to open her gob for the first time in her short life to a man she barely knows, because the thought of losing him after he _finally_ showed up in her life is much scarier than anything else that has happened these past few days. Morgan sighs and gives a tiny, wry smile.

It's a strange universe indeed.

She shakes off these thoughts, choosing to forget how disturbing this should be, and instead marveling at the structure around her. "When you say bigger on the inside…" she says faintly. Her hand stretches out and grazes a door, tracing the dark wood with a single, short, black fingernail. The Doctor chuckles and nods. Morgan continues to follow him but she glances back at the door. Her palms tingle like they do whenever an object that had a strong emotional connection grazes the soft flesh. Someone important was once there; she wonders who it was. But she doesn't ask, just like he asked her not to.

The Doctor leads her to a sprawling kitchen, clean and beautiful and very obviously not used often. Morgan smiles a little at the sight. She has a feeling that this will become one of her haunts. A clicking sound on the counter draws both of their attentions, and Morgan's hesitant smile becomes a full grin when she sees that it's a coffee machine, a steaming cup ready for consumption and a plate of brownies beside it. She makes her way towards spread, snatching the cup of caffeinated heaven and inhaling deeply. The aroma is thick and dark, just like she likes, with a touch of vanilla and caramel notes making her mouth water. Morgan kisses her fingertips and presses them to the counter in thanks. The TARDIS blasts her with a stream of warm air and giggles in her mind, showing her appreciation for the gesture.

"She likes you," the Doctor comments softly. Morgan shrugs and looks down into her coffee cup, feeling embarrassed even though she can't explain why. She misses the awed look on his face at her sweet little gesture to the ship. She doesn't see the way his eyes appraise her, like he can peel back her flesh to the soul beneath and reveal her mysteries. She is ignorant of the way his hand twitches towards her, only to be held back by surprised confusion.

It's just as well; she wouldn't understand anyway, and would probably finally heed the warnings to run away.

When Morgan looks back up, he has the looks under control and is smiling, albeit nervously. She takes a deep breath and takes the plunge. "What's regeneration?" she asks. The Doctor looks startled. She clears her throat and absently raises a hand to play with her ponytail. "I mean, I know what it is in _humans_, but in you I don't really understand…" She looks at him with wide eyes, shining oddly. The Doctor fidgets a little before nodding.

"It's how my species avoids death. Cheats it, really. When we are mortally wounded, we will release a certain energy that allows us to become a new person and survive, as it were. Some elements remain the same but… It's quite the process, at any rate." He looks a little uncomfortable at the explanation. Morgan doesn't push, a shudder crawling over her skin as she remembers through him the sensation of burning from the inside out.

"How many times…"

"Quid pro quo, my turn," the Doctor interrupts. "How did you get into my mind like that?" Morgan winces at his directness and nods. She slowly sits at the table and holds her hand out, palm up. The cup of coffee warms her other palm. The Doctor watches it warily as the implication sinks in. She nods and drops her hand back to her cup.

"I can't really explain it, other than it's something I can't control. Thankfully it's limited to my palms." She hesitates as she tries to explain. "It's not reading minds, exactly, it's deeper than that. Things you don't think even affect you I get to see. It's not even really that _clear_; I usually end up with more questions than answers, but it's a major invasion of privacy all the same. If I could I'd switch it off." The Doctor's eyes are on her and she fidgets with her hair again under that probing gaze. She can't seem to raise her eyes from her coffee. "I don't really know how to explain it," she repeats with finality. The Doctor nods and she breathes a sigh before cautiously raising her eyes to his. His green-gold orbs are sympathetic. "Just don't take my hand, okay? I know it's instinctive for you, but seriously, don't."

"I won't," he promises. Morgan takes a deep breath and sips some of her coffee.

"Quid pro quo, what are you?" she asks bluntly. The Doctor raises an eyebrow but answers anyway.

"I'm a Time Lord." Morgan snorts.

"Pompous," she mutters. The Doctor grins cheekily and winks. She bursts out laughing at his absurdity, and some of the tension in the room dissipates. "So does that mean…"

"Quid pro quo," he reminds her. "You're not very good at following your own rules, Morgan," he teases her. She rolls her eyes at him but smiles in a sweet, reassuring way.

"You didn't exactly give enough information to make what I told you equal," she counters, though her soft smile lingers. The Doctor shrugs.

"Not part of the rules and you can't add that now," he responds cheekily. She lets it go with a small laugh and a shake of her head. _Bastard._ _(Know what he is)_

"Okay, okay, what's your question?" The Doctor's eyes become less playful, more serious, when those eyes meet hers again.

"What did you mean by it only works on soldiers?" Morgan's smile falters and she shrugs.

"I can't explain it other than it's not _soldiers_, specifically, but more like… warriors. Like I'm perceiving a threat in another person I'm not aware I'm picking up on and sort of… making sure it's a real threat. I don't know why it's so picky but it is." She spreads her hands in a gesture of confusion (_a warrior will fight until the heart no longer beats)_. "Your guess is as good as mine, really." He nods, slowly, digesting this. She can't read the emotions playing out across his face but they don't immediately trigger her alarms for danger, so she assumes she's alright for the moment. He opens his mouth and she hastily calls an end to his question. (_A wall falls)_ Talking about this is making her extremely uncomfortable – and she's quite aware that for every lengthy reply she gives him, he gives her a bare fraction back.

"Okay, so, are you telepathic? Most people don't seem to realize that I'm inside of their heads. Ya know, makin' me feel even more like a pervert for bein' there…" Morgan meets his green-gold eyes and locks them, refusing to back down this time.

The Doctor shifts in discomfort, twitchy and unable to remain still. His eyes shift constantly to and from hers, a frown tugging at his thin mouth, a secret pain and darkness lingering in those big alien eyes. She just waits as he slowly, very slowly, nods his head. "Yes. Not to your level, apparently, as you seem very good with invading my mind, but… yes, I am. My species is… _was_… quite skilled in that area. Being sensitive to the flow of time, as we… were, enabled us to be quite susceptible to others minds as well." He meets her stare dead-on abruptly, and Morgan jerks back a little, not expecting this sudden look of determination or _hardness_ in his gaze. "Time Lords, you have to understand, used to be considered the best in telepathy. That dagger you have alone, if used, would unleash the full rage of a Time Lord on the victim. We were quite the race, once upon a time." He smiles a little bitterly. "So you can imagine why a girl with no training accidentally slipping past walls I have been building for centuries with barely a trace could be so unsettling for me."

"Yeah," Morgan admits, her heart pounding underneath her ribs so hard that she's quite sure he can hear it. He cocks his head a little, confirming that he does indeed have _that_ good of hearing. "Yeah, I can see that. I'm sorry." And she is. She doesn't _like_ poking around in people's heads like she does. But to do it to a man who has known nothing but the breaching of those walls to mean agony and plundering of his mind… Morgan shudders. No more skin-to-palm contact for her without permission.

The Doctor's eyes suddenly soften and he stops his twitching limbs to grasp a point right above her wrists, mindful of her palms. She keeps them folded around her coffee cup, mostly empty now (when did that happen?) and meets his eyes. A little smile tugs his mouth. "I know," he says, warmly, none of the hostility that bristled just below the surface from earlier there. Morgan's heart flutters for an entirely different reason now, her red eyes meeting his green-gold. That sense of _knowing_ him comes back to her, even more pronounced now that she's had a peak into his head. (_A warrior s not a head but a heart, warm and beating)_

A part of Morgan wants to offer to let him wander into _her_ mind, now that she's seen his; it'd only be fair, after all. But as soon as she thinks this she pulls back, both mentally and physically, with a shiver. What is _she thinking?!_ Apparently nothing, if this even occurs to her. There are memories, secrets she keeps, that could be dangerous if the Doctor got his hands on them - dangerous for her _and_ for other people. She had to learn early on that it was not always possible to fix the wrongs people make in the past, and that people are _not_ their past. Morgan's not so sure (_you know you're wrong_) that the Doctor could handle some of the things, some of the _people_¸ she's forgiven in the past. Or that he could handle what she's done to the people she _hasn't_ forgiven. _I know you think you're the Oncoming Storm,_ she thinks dejectedly, _but what I am? I can be a fuckin' nightmare given the chance. You've got enough of those, lad, without takin' on mine too._ The things Morgan fears are there too, so close to the surface that she shudders to think about what would happen if the Doctor saw them. In retrospect, compared to his fears, hers are nothing, which makes them all the more embarrassing and her weaker for them. Morgan can't bear the thought of being weak, even less the idea that the _Doctor_ would see her as weak.

No, he doesn't need to be in her head.

(_Trust him but don't trust him)_

"Quid pro quo, what's your favorite flower?" The Doctor's eyes are playful and eager, his mood flipping as suddenly as that. Morgan's reeling from the shift in mood. He didn't even so much as blink when she drew back, as if he expected it. Now his incredible, alien, too-old-for-so-young-a-face eyes are boring into hers, demanding in an almost gentle way for her to be… she doesn't know, actually, what they're asking, but Morgan answers him anyway.

"Black roses." Her reply is clipped but a blush stains her cheeks at the admission. The Doctor's eyes sparkle at the admission.

"Ha! Should've known – a symbol of Irish rebellion against the English! Oh, should have seen that one coming…. You know they actually used to symbolize a range of emotions, back when flowers were exchanged as a form of conveying emotions? Black roses were so complex! They meant hatred, mourning, tragic love, rebirth, death, or rejuvenation depending on the context - " He looks ready to go into full lecture mode, but Morgan places the tips of her fingers on his mouth to shut him up, laughing the whole while. Her fingers are warm from her coffee cup which makes the Doctor's cool skin feel even cooler. _I've always loved the cold…_

"I prefer the optimistic meaning of them… well, beside the rebellious aspect," she tells him with a smirk when his mouth finally stills. He tilts his head curiously at her, eyes going wide. Morgan actually gapes at him as she realizes that the incredible genius might actually not know something. "Wait, do you know it?!" She starts to giggle but the Doctor nods, a queer look on his face as he regards her.

"Utter and pure devotion, completely rare in its power and beauty," he murmurs. The Doctor's mouth quirks in a smile that really isn't a smile. "Never fancied you for a romantic, Morgan." Morgan's face heats under his scrutiny.

"I'm not! Love is stupid and pointless!" she protests passionately. The Doctor's lips quirk even more in that odd expression, green-gold eyes fathomless. He raises a single eyebrow at her in sarcastic disbelief. Her face heats even more under his scrutiny. "Oh c'mon, you should know how stupid it is! Only poncy gits believe in that crap!" she practically shrieks, a flush staining her cheeks and probably looking ridiculous against her ruby eyes and deep red locks. The Doctor's smile becomes a full-out smug grin.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he quotes. Morgan huffs and crosses her arms under her chest. Sadly, this does not achieve the same effect as it would if she had actual breasts to push up.

"Quid poro quo!" Morgan squeaks out in utter embarrassment. "Why do you wear a bowtie?"

"Because they're cool!"

"Keep dreaming, Doctor."

And so on. The questions become significantly lighter between them, less charged than they had been and more playful. Morgan can't remember the last time she laughed this hard since… ever. Most likely not since she flew through the skies of Ireland the first time. Sitting here with him, revealing bits of herself in exchange for bits of _him_, Morgan doesn't think she's ever been this close to anyone in her entire life.

There's something inside of him, something remarkable and dangerous and chained and beautiful and deadly and just… _him_. Her questing fingers itch to take his and explore what she already knows and guesses. Morgan almost asks him several times for that permission to look into his mind and take a closer look, just to see that something sitting between his hearts – and two hearts, can you believe _that_?! He actually had to let her feel them pounding away in his chest (a very nicely muscles chest if Morgan could say so herself – she always preferred runners to body builders to be honest) because she didn't believe him. But that something had been there too, chained and eager and straining. She doesn't know what it is but she _really_ does want to. Yet Morgan feels that it wouldn't be right to dig deeper into that particular field of questioning and searching at this point in time. Talking with the Doctor, opening up to each other in a way unfamiliar to both of them, makes her realize he's even more of a runner than she is. And if it's a bad something in his chest, in his hearts, and not something fantastic like she wants to believe, she might run away from him before he has a chance to run from her. And where would that leave them?

Whatever this is going on between them, whatever this _familiarity_ is, Morgan doesn't want to run from it quite yet. She will too, if it becomes too intense. She knows she will. Better to be in the dark, and to remain there, than to leave before she can handle whatever it is.

The Doctor eventually notices Morgan is nodding off a little over her coffee-brownie-creation (for someone who eats some strange food, he certainly is picky; she offered him coffee and he turned green. Stupid tea drinkers). With a soft smile he places a hand under her elbow and guides her up. "Allons-y, Fairy-Girl." She rolls her eyes but allows him to lead her out of the kitchen and down the hallway. "Been quite a day for you."

"Doctor, I'm tired, not a child," she says, barely bristling at how he patronizes her, too tired to really care at the moment. He chuckles in that almost endearingly condescending way of his and takes her to the console room, where he plugs something into the panel quickly. The day catches up to her out of nowhere, and she finds herself falling against the console, trying to support herself with her arms as her legs are rather shaky. The Doctor finishes what he was doing and rushes back over to her, taking her elbow and steering her down several hallways to…

…the door with a lot of feeling behind it.

Morgan snaps awake, glancing at the door and then the Doctor in confusion. "But… this was here before? How can it be my room?" she asks. The Doctor gives her an odd look.

"Morgan, it wasn't here before," he tells her. She opens her mouth to argue, then changes her mind with a shrug. _Weird, thousands-plus ship, _she reminds herself. Morgan goes to open the door, but the Doctor suddenly stills her. Her once-again drowsy rose-red eyes meet his sympathetic green-gold orbs.

"Quid pro quo," he says softly. "Morgan, what was it that you're so afraid of that you didn't want me asking you about it?" It has the effect of dumping a bucket of ice water on her. She shivers involuntarily and presses instinctively closer to him. The Doctor looks a little startled by this but allows it, one hand resting on her shoulder.

She hesitates before admitting, "Dogs. Big, black dogs." She looks at her shoes, afraid to see what this admission will do to how he sees her. She doesn't want to seem weak for being afraid of the nasty creatures. But the Doctor tilts her chin up, eyes soft and searching. He doesn't laugh at her, doesn't make any jabs; he merely studies her, peering into her eyes with a question she can't answer. Then he closes his and presses a quick kiss to her forehead.

"Get some sleep, Morgan O'Fey. We have a big day tomorrow, what with a government conspiracy." He grins impishly, and she laughs, the shivers still there. Almost three years and she still hates big black dogs. How pathetic?

"G'night, Doctor," she murmurs, dashing into her room and locking the door behind her. She sighs once there and turns back, intending to crawl into bed and sleep. The room, however, makes her do a double-take. For a few minutes, she can only stare. And then: "Oh HELL no!"

The TARDIS is still laughing over her reaction.

**Oh, what did ythat sneaky TARDIS do? ;) Ha ha, like, don't like, let me know!**

**-Wolfgirl220**


	6. Can I see the stars?

**I'm such a bad updater. Sorry.**

**Okay, this is kind of... fluffy. I don't know where it came from but all of a sudden they're, y'know, happy and having a good time. Huh. Good thing it fit into the plot! Don't worry, the Doctor's still freaking, he's just taking a bit of a break to show his new companion around!**

**I'll admit it, I listened to "Shooting Star" by Owl City over and over to write this song. Also "Vanilla Twilight." Dunno, it just... fits. So, yeah, if you want to listen to that while reading, feel free!**

**So, drop me a review and let me know at the end what you think! Seriously, I suck at fluff, let me know what you think!**

Chapter Six: Can I see the stars?

"So, now that ya have effectively bored me ta death, wanna do somethin' fun?" Morgan quips on the way back to the TARDIS, dark brow cocked and head tilted so her maroon hair swings wildly in its heavy ponytail. The Doctor scowls and flails his arms a little, much to her amusement, but offers no reply.

Three hours, _in the right order_, of tracking down UNIT officers and commanders, and not one knew about the knight or orders to be in Maine. Not one. Anyone who had heard even a whisper of Maine also had 'Highly Classified' around the place, and knew nothing else. The soldiers he'd seen back in the compound were 'away for vacation/a mission/confidential work' and no one had seen them in weeks. And the knight? He could still hear their snickers over that one. Honestly, he'd saved the world a few billion times from aliens _they had seen_, rips in time, and Time Travelers alike, all which _they had seen too_, but a knight made them laugh? The Doctor wouldn't admit how red his ears were turning by that point.

Morgan had been rather patient aside from her jokes (more than he was), but she'd been uncomfortable to say the least. The soldiers had all stared at her, watching her in fascination. More than one man (and woman) had flirted with the young redhead, trying to steer the conversation away from conspiracies and towards more... _inappropriate_ activities. Those that didn't flirt had stammered and grinned and shaken her hand (or rather fist as Morgan refused to give them contact with her palms) so hard he was surprised they didn't rip the appendage from its socket. They acted like she was a goddess walking amongst them, both too afraid to touch her and yet too afraid not to because otherwise she'd fade away like a dream. The Doctor had watched as Morgan smiled softly, straightened her back, and tossed her hair. Anyone who wasn't watching would think she was being gracious to the attention; anyone who paid attention, like him, would see that is Morgan's shield when she becomes uncomfortable.

He'd tried to steer her away from them after that, putting her behind him whenever possible so that they could only reach her with their eager gazes. Morgan had scowled and tried to duck around him occasionally, but not so often as she might have if she actually wanted him to stop. He wonders, with a smile, how much of that was her attempts to keep from being a 'damsel in distress.' Morgan is fast with her fists and tongue and stubborn as all hell when she wants to be; she's more likely to punch him for saving her than falling to her knees in gratitude.

The Doctor flails some more at a laughing Morgan, eyes comically wide and jaw gaping. "B-but! Conspiracy! Knights! Government secrets!" he wails in protest. Morgan simply chuckles at him and holds open the door to the TARDIS for him, the edge of her eyebrow arched in an almost sarcastic manner. She mimics his expression almost perfectly, tapping the side of the TARDIS with a short, black-coated fingernail.

"B-but Time Machine, ya git!" she giggles, swinging her ponytail some more before strutting into the TARDIS. He follows after her, groaning and thumping his head repeatedly. "Don't worry Doctor; so long as you go to the right Time, your conspiracy will still be there." The Doctor mutters some curses at her but follows her, scowling and running his hands through his hair repeatedly.

It makes no logical sense. Why is there a knight, of all things, wandering around abandoned complexes where girls are being held captive by robot mimics acting as DNA carriers? Why is there a knight period? A knight who is in charge of a squadron of UNIT soldiers. And an alien scanner looking for one single person, but the sample was so corrupted there were four matches. How are they connected? What is so special about that DNA that someone or something went to such great lengths to find the match to it? Why did the knight try to protect the girls and the secret? Why why why why WHY? The word runs around and around in his impressive mind, demanding satisfaction when he can give no answers. The Doctor tugs some more at his hair and sighs. He's beginning to hate riddles and prophecies and such; they're becoming rather a nuisance.

"Doctor?" Morgan calls curiously, rose eyes wide, effectively breaking him out of his musings. He meets her gaze and is taken aback by the softness of her face, sweeping away the harsher edges of her cheekbones and brow. She's so eager and excited, smiling in a way that makes him stare at her in wonder. For a second, all he can focus on is this little slip of a woman-child, barely grown, yet so much older mentally than she initially seems. With the prospect of adventure dangling in front of her, of travel, of sights unseen, she is nothing short of radiant.

"Doctor, can we go somewhere? Or are you going to sit there and rip all your hair out instead?" She's teasing him, red eyes glowing with her amusement, uneven lips curled into a hearts-wrenching smile. Suddenly UNITS' fascination with her is entirely justified; when she isn't trying to hide, when she's comfortable in her own skin, when she's relaxed and happy, Morgan is beautiful.

When her smile starts to drop, the amusement fading as the Doctor takes longer and longer to reply, he finally stutters out an answer. "Y-yes of course! Anywhere you'd like!" He bounds to the console, cursing himself the entire time. _You're nearly twelve-hundred years old, Theta Sigma, get a grip! You've met plenty of beautiful, young, feisty women - you've even married a few of them! Stop acting like a teenager who has a crush on the pretty bookworm!_ He stops his internal reprimand to laugh at the description of Morgan. Oh, that seems like her, doesn't it? She's all fists and fury most of the time, but he'd bet his favorite bowtie that, besides fighting, her favorite thing to do is curl up with a book and a mug of hot (icky) coffee and brownies._ I should show her the library..._

"Where'd you like to go?" the Doctor calls to his companion, hands twirling along the console in a well-rehearsed dance he'd performed for centuries. Morgan hurries over to her side of the console just as the TARDIS begins to shake, gripping the edge with a bright smile. The Doctor's hearts lift with the sight, and he grins back at her. "There's the Troxan light show in 3382, or the Yvelt Rebirth Dance of 2356, or the meteor shower of-"

"Can I see the stars?" Morgan calls to him, cheeks burning bright red with embarrassment, but determination in her expression and stance. The flush becomes darker under the Doctor's stare at the mundane (for him) request. "It's just... I've had this fantasy ever since I was a kid where I could... Touch them. They always seemed so far away, and I always thought they were so beautiful, but I could never get near enough to them." Her gaze grows distant, dreamy, wistful, as she remembers something from her childhood. The Doctor smiles as she absently strokes the console, a little shy grin beginning to creep up the corners of her mouth. "When I was about ten I actually tried ta, too. Flew up 'till I was above the clouds... So beautiful..." While she ruminates in her memory, the Doctor silently flips levers and inputs coordinates, a sneaky smirk stealing across his face. _Not mundane after all._ When the TARDIS rocks Morgan snaps out of her imagination, a sheepish look appearing on her visage. "Sorry. If you want we can go to one of the other places - the stars aren't going anywhere, after all. The Yee-Velvet Dance thingy sounds like it's a lotta fun."

"Yvelt," the Doctor corrects absently. Morgan nods, her smile slightly dimmer but still radiant.

"Right. Yvelt," she repeats. "I've never been dancing before, actually." The Doctor looks up from the console to smirk at her, eyes twinkling.

"I very much doubt that, Fairy-Girl – every romantic knows how to dance!" he teases her. Morgan bristles, sharp cheeks pooling with hot blood so her entire face is a rich red color. Laughing as she splutters, he twirls about the console some more, hitting buttons and turning knobs in rapid movements. _Almost there now..._

"I am not a romantic!" she cries indignantly, rose eyes flashing. When he chuckles she growls a little at him. "I'm not! Love and romance and all that is just a waste of time. There are more important things out there than finding love!" The Doctor realizes, a little late and with a cruel stab at his good mood, that Morgan isn't angry - she's hurt. It's in her face, her eyes, the twist of her lips and the grip of her hands against the console. His TARDIS hums soothingly but the girl doesn't seem to hear. The Doctor feels his hearts break a little at hearing such lonely and bitter words from someone so young. They sound more like something he should say, not a twenty-one year old woman-child who has barely lived yet. _What boy broke your heart Morgan O'Fey?_ the Doctor wonders when Morgan scrubs viciously at her forehead with one hand and pulls her ponytail with the other. The Doctor lands the TARDIS and strides around to Morgan's side, grasping her wrists and gently pushing her hands down so she'll stop. Morgan stares from where he's keeping her wrists in a tight but careful hold, minding her palms, up to his eyes. Her own are wide and surprised, like she can't believe that he'd dare touch her. She pulls a little, but the Doctor shakes his head and tugs, guiding her towards the TARDIS doors.

"That's a shame, really," the Doctor says in a conversational tone, leading her around so she's facing the door but her petite view is blocked by his almost half-meter advantage on her. "For y'see, I don't think anyone but a true romantic could appreciate what's behind these doors."

He's got her attention now, ruby eyes glowing with curiosity. "Why what's behind them?" she asks. Morgan stands on her tip-toes in an attempt to see behind him, but she's so tiny her forehead barely clears his shoulder. "Bloody buggery fu-"

"Oi! Language!" the Doctor chastises, letting go of her with one hand so he can waggle a finger in her face disapprovingly. Morgan scowls and waves her hand at him to try and force him to stop. The Doctor just laughs and lets his hand fall behind him so he can grope blindly for the handle. "And as I was saying before you rudely interrupted -"

"You were done talking!" Morgan protests. His hand finds the latch and pushes. _Here we go..._

"There you go again. Honestly why should I be nice to you? Shoving your way onto my ship, bringing a deadly robot on board, rummaging in my head without permission, swearing! I should take you to the planet of Drosophila and let you get eaten alive, not showing you what's behind these doors..." He's needling her, goading her, so that she eventually starts pushing against his chest and laughing.

"C'mon, let me see!" Morgan pleads, grinning and pushing. The Doctor suddenly sidesteps, and Morgan stumbles, falling through the un-latched doors to the world outside. She freezes, arms outstretched as she catches herself, her rigid stance betraying her shock even though he can't see her expression. The Doctor leans against the door frame, crosses his arms and smiles softly.

Morgan's body eventually relaxes, her arms slowly descending, until she's standing, rocking back and forth on her heels so she bounces slightly. Suddenly she twirls, jumping a little and giggling. "I'm standing on a cloud!" she calls back to the Doctor. He grins and nods, stepping out of the TARDIS so he's standing on the cloud too.

"You're standing on a cloud," he murmurs. Morgan grins and jumps some more, body being flung from one section to another. Her wings expand from her back, dark and glimmering in the kaleidoscope sky of blues and greens and purples above them, dotted with "stars" so close they actually illuminate the landscape. The Doctor tilts his head back to watch her fly, a wide smile gracing his face. She's so _fast_, streaking across the sky in a black blur, twisting and occasionally doing flips much to his amusement. Morgan looks right at home against the swirling sky with the "stars" twinkling behind her.

Sometimes, the Doctor reflects, he forgets how beautiful the worlds of the universe are. He's seen so much, experienced so much, that there's a constant need to explore _now_, to find that last spark of hope in an otherwise bleak universe. That's why he needs his companions, he supposes. Through their joy, through their amazement, through the rush they get at seeing something new and unexplainable, he remembers that something as simple as seeing the stars in an unpolluted sky – albeit from a cloud – is one of the most amazing feats life has to offer.

_Though Morgan certainly isn't quite like any other of my companions_, the Doctor thinks with amusement.

Flipping his wrist at an absurd angle so he can check his watch, the Doctor knows he only has a few minutes before what he truly brought her here for starts. "Okay Morgan, come down! I need to show you something!" the Doctor shouts up to the young alien woman. He can't tell from where he is if she hears him, not until she's suddenly beside him, alighting gracefully on her toes like a ballerina. Morgan has the largest grin he's ever seen on a person before, stretching so wide across her lips that it looks borderline painful, eyes bright and cheeks a little rosy from her flight. Her skin and hair glitters with the "stardust" that comes with getting too close to the "stars" above them. She looks like a true Fairy-Girl now with her wings stretched out and glowing like a shooting star. It's appropriate, really, for what's about to happen; he's glad she's not hiding her wings like normal. The Doctor grins back, and she closes her wings close to her back, but doesn't put them away. Her ponytail has become slightly undone, waving loosely on one side so her heavy hair spills around in a deep maroon pool. Her whole head is a bit diamond-encrusted at the moment, but her hair is the worst of it.

He reaches out and trails his fingers through the soft strands – _like the richest Earthen silk – _and dislodges some of the "stardust" clinging to them so it tumbles to the violet cloud they're standing on. Morgan instinctively flinches way from the contact but her smile is still beaming.

"This is _fantastic_!" she exclaims, throwing her hands up above her as if she could physically reach up and snatch the kaleidoscope sky above them. _Which she could, if she'd like to._ "Oh my God, I swear I touched the stars for a moment there. _Thank you,_ Doctor. This is…" She loses her words and simply lets her incandescent smile speak for her. The Doctor chuckles and gestures for her to come closer with a slightly crooked finger. She does eagerly, bouncing over to his side so he can quickly explain what's happening in a few minutes.

"You probably _did_ touch them," he informs her. Morgan blinks in astonishment, so the Doctor quickly runs his fingers through her hair to let more "stardust" shower down around her. He's swift enough she doesn't have time to jerk back. "See, we're on a little place called Etoil, a pretty – in many forms of the word – isolated planet. About a thousand years ago this planet's time, the land below us became uninhabitable; the forest took back the world, so to speak, and was rather violent in doing so." Morgan's ruby eyes, glowing like gems in the sun, are huge in her face as he explains the planet's history. He's never seen a companion so enraptured before. It boosts his ego more than a little. "But the Etoilen people, they were expert engineers. They built this 'cloud' so they wouldn't have to leave their home planet entirely. What you're standing on is a mixture of gases compressed by artificial gravity to the point where it becomes an almost completely solid surface.

"But there was a little problem of too much sun exposure to deal with, and not enough light at night. Etoil is too small to carry a moon, y'see. So even with the stars it turns almost pitch black at night. They were safe above the ground but suddenly had a whole new problem to deal with." _Damn it, a minute, have to hurry this up…_ Surprisingly though Morgan understands before he has to explain it.

"They _built_ a new _sky_?!" she gasps. The Doctor grins and nods. "Oh, _wow_!"

"They needed something to filter the light during the day, and a source of light for at night. So they built a new sky," the Doctor confirms with glee, gesturing to the swirling gases above them and the "stars" hanging in it. "And to reflect the little bit of light available, they modified billions of gems so they could hang in the sky and catch what little light there is."

"Doctor, this is incredible."

"Ah, ah! But wait. Every hundred or so years, the gems begin to deteriorate – part of the engineering, I'm afraid. So every hundred years, the Etoilen people need to replace the gems falling apart with new ones." Morgan's enraptured as he starts gesticulating wildly, keeping a careful eye on his watch. "We're here for the replacement."

Morgan opens her mouth to ask but their time's up; the Doctor shakes his head and tilts his head back so he can look up at the sky hanging serenely above them. Morgan quiets and does the same, eyes unknowing but delighted.

When the first "star" falls, it does so right by their feet, shooting out of the manufactured sky above them with a trail of fiery, glowing "stardust" spinning out in its wake. A normal human reaction would be to jerk back, but Morgan's eyes only widen and she inhales sharply. Her eyes become glued to the sky as more bright "stars" begin to descend. That smile he's quickly coming to love is back and brighter than ever.

They're caught right in the middle of the crescendo, the "stars" falling all around them but never seeming to touch them. Within seconds they're both covered in the glittering "stardust." Morgan tilts her head back and laughs, stretching her arms out and spinning in place so that more of the glittering dust catches in her hair, her clothes, and her wings. Blinking some of it out of his eyes, the Doctor watches her, suddenly overcome with a _brilliant_ idea. When Morgan gets a little closer to him, he reaches out and snags her wrist, dragging her to him so he can wrap an arm around her waist just below the base of her ebony wings. Before she has more time to do more than squeak in surprise he's dancing with her, spinning them both around through the shooting "stars" crashing in beautiful explosions all around them. It's not exactly graceful, as Morgan is stiff as a board and the Doctor's current body isn't exactly an experienced dancer; more than once they step on each other's toes or stumble so hard they both end up sprawling on the ground in an undignified heap. But it's fun, and beautiful in how _simple_ it all is. Morgan eventually loosens up enough that the Doctor can spin her properly. She's nearly as bad as him at dancing, but neither of them really cares (_apparently not all romantics know how to dance)_. Eventually they collapse, giggling, onto the clouds so they can watch the rest of the "stars" come down.

The Doctor still has Morgan's wrist in his hand, but she's not taking it back. For some reason that feels like a victory.

They watch as the stars start dwindling into nothing more than a few gems in the swirling sky, and those re rapidly disappearing in trails of glitter and light. Morgan turns her head so she can meet the Doctor's eyes, her face soft and her lips pulled into a more subdued, but no less heartfelt, smile. "Thank you, Doctor." He grins and squeezes her wrist gently with his hand.

"Not over yet," he promises. Morgan grins and looks back up. Her smile drops as she sees something in the sky, a slight crease in her brow. Confused, he props himself up on an elbow, chin ducked down until it touches his bowtie so he can look where she is. Another star is falling, smaller than some of the others, but something about it has caught and held her attention.

"Doctor, are the stars hot?" Morgan asks suddenly, eyes tracking the gem. He frowns and shakes his head.

"No, what you see is them disintegrating as they hit the higher gravity field at such fast – Morgan!" She's suddenly gone, ripping her hand from his as she takes to the sky, wings beating hard and hands outstretched. The Doctor clambers to his feet, hearts in his throat, as with unnerving speed and a keen eye she manages to snatch the gem that caught her attention right out of its path. Whooping with joy, she streaks back, her prize clutched in her hands.

Morgan comes to a stop before him, gently tucking her wings back into her back with a sheepish expression. "Sorry," she apologizes to his aghast look. "I just… I wanted ta see what a star looks like." Her hands are cupped around the jewel she plucked from the sky, illuminating under her face with an ambient silver glow.

The Doctor opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, not knowing what to say for once. On the one hand, what she did was _extremely_ dangerous. Yes, Morgan asked if they were hot, but there could have been a million others things that could have hurt her by doing that. His mind spins with the unpleasant possibilities of what could have happened to her. Thankfully, for her at least, it wasn't dangerous, but Morgan hadn't known that. She'd simply eliminated one possibility and taken a leap of faith.

Much like what he does, come to think of it. Which is probably the only reason that he hasn't already chewed her out for being so reckless.

"Morgan, you can't just dive into a situation like that!' he exclaims. "What if it was poisonous to you? Or too fast? What if the gem punctured the artificial gravity and you'd fallen to the world below? That was too risky!" Morgan glances up at him and gives a sheepish smile, but doesn't even offer an apology. He's frustrated but a little amused all the same by the blatant way she couldn't care less. "You need to be more careful," he tells her firmly. Morgan nods then, and slowly opens her hands to show him the gem encased by her hands. He draws in a sharp breath at seeing the jewel she's cupping.

It's about the size of a large strawberry, and shaped a bit like one too, the pattern distinctly heart-shaped. The Etoilen style of cutting gems is different than on Earth, so where there would be millions of facets on an Earth gem, the Etoilen gem has been sanded down until it was matte and milky, before swirls had been cut into the surface and deep into the gem. The looping cuts catch every little glimmer of light and reflect them back in all directions so that the "star" is like a little lamp in his companion's hands. A soft, silvery-grey color, the gem sends patterns across Morgan's star-dusted skin so that her whole body glimmers where the light is caught and refracted.

The Doctor all of a sudden has the unsettling feeling that he's seen this stone before.

"Can I keep it?" Morgan asks shyly. The Doctor shoots his gaze back up to her blushing one. "I don't really like jewels much, but there's something special about this one…" The Doctor quickly shakes away his feeling of déjà vu and smirks at her.

"Only if you promise not to e so reckless again." Morgan purses her lips and rolls her eyes.

"I'll be as careful as you are," she tells him with her own smug look. _Oh, that's going to be bad…_

Before he can tell her how very bad _that_ is going to be and besides he's the Doctor so there's a bit of a difference between her being reckless and him being reckless, there's a loud explosion overhead. They both look up, startled, just in time to see the swirling multitude of "stars" above them expand and spread from a point directly above them. For a few moments the whole sky becomes illuminated, the gases shining in neon hues as the stars settle after being shot up there by a device similar to a bomb. Then the brilliant light goes out, and it's back to stars in a swirling sky over a violet cloud.

Morgan's still watching the stars though, complete awe on her face, and for a few precious minutes as he watches her, he forgets about conspiracies and things that don't make sense and déjà vu and all the other things that are driving him mad at the moment. He forgets that he's a Time Lord and she's also an alien of indeterminate species. He becomes so caught up in the beauty of the sky, the beauty of the universe, the beauty of Morgan's fascination, the unknown beauty of _her_, that he can let all of the other things become insignificant for a moment. He can let them sink below the waves of his unconscious mind and just enjoy the moment with his newest companion.

Yes, he needs his companions to remind him of the pleasure there is in just looking at the stars.

**A/N: Like? Don't like? Let me know!**


	7. My Children Are Stupid

**I'll be honest, this chapter kind of sprung itself on me. I didn't plan for angsty-ness until much later, but apparently Morgan and the Doctor had other ideas, because suddenly, here's a dollop of angst.**

**Apparently, the TARDIS has other ideas too. Honestly, after "The Doctor's Wife," I thought it was kind of weird that she could be so conscious but not, you know, really _do anything_ to make the Doctor stop acting like an idiot. Personally, after nine-hundred years of him never making a move, I'd be like, "Sweetie, I love you, but ENOUGH! You need a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and so help me Rassilon, if you don't make something happen with the next one I'M GIVING YOU TO JACK BLOODY HARKNESS SO I CAN GET A BREAK!" But I'm also probably more temperamental, so... yeah...**

**Anyway, have fun and enjoy the angsty-ness. Wonder where it'll lead? ;)**

* * *

Chapter Seven; My Children Are Stupid

The Doctor doesn't erase the nightmare Morgan's been having for months now.

She rubs her eyes, stretching and yawning a little, but her stomach still churns from the feeling of falling through the floor. She's still puzzled by the bloody hand yanking her down, the intense fear (_fear for another and not for herself_) that plagues her, and the sense of relief but desolation that overtakes her at the end. What does it all mean?

With a sigh Morgan rises from the obnoxious bed the TARDIS gave her (she already yelled at the Doctor for her room and he had no idea what she was talking about – sneaky ship) and walks over to the closet. With a wrinkle of her sharp but small nose, she pushes aside the numerous dresses in the front looking for the shelf of pants and backless shirts she prefers. With the motion she pushes all thoughts of her dream from her mind, and any niggling ideas about telling the Doctor. (_Mind agrees but the heart protests against secrets)_

But apparently, the TARDIS decided Morgan can't wear pants and shirts today; the shelf is gone.

She pulls back from the closet to yell at the ceiling. "Really? _Really?!_ Fine! Then I'm wearing my pajamas!" The TARDIS only snickers at her and refuses to make the shelf of decent clothes reappear. She doesn't particularly _like_ the thought of wearing her flannel pajama bottoms and tank top all day, but that's better than the ghastly garments hanging in the closet. Honestly, she'd prefer to walk around _naked_ than to wear a dress.

In retrospect, she should have thought about the fact the TARDIS is in her mind before she strutted out of her room in search of coffee in nothing but her birthday suit.

* * *

"Yer ship is a pervert, Doctor," Morgan grouses later to the Doctor, flushing under her ponytail and enormous black coat. She's steadily sweating through the garment underneath (which, apparently, she _will_ wear instead of being naked) yet really and truly couldn't care less. Passing out from the heat, however, is a very real concern at the moment.

He looks up from where he's working on the console, absurd goggles on his face that magnify his beautiful green eyes until they look almost like anime eyes. She bursts out giggling, raising her hands to cover her mouth and stifle the startled sound, but she can't stop laughing around her fingers. The Doctor, far from offended, grins at her laughter, eyes gleaming. He shoves the goggles up so they're no longer blocking his vision, making his fringe splay in an undignified halo around his face and sections of his forehead magnified. Her giggles become full guffaws at this ridiculous alien _(your ridiculous alien)_ who stole her away and showed her the stars. The gem from Etoil rests on the top of her sternum, gleaming and bright from a metal cage that holds it in place yet doesn't cover its beauty. The coat was doing that well enough.

"Oi! I'll have you know this is delicate work and needs precise control! One mishap and we'll be thrown into the Time Vortex for all eternity," he tells her in a playfully scolding tone. She doesn't miss a beat.

"Someone should've told yer drivin' skills that, lad, 'cause they're breaking the TARDIS faster'n Eric can talk about boys." She expects him to come back just as hard to her volley, but he drops it entirely with a frown. The Doctor reaches up and removes his goggles, rubbing his dark hair along the way. Morgan tilts her head in puzzlement at the sudden dour mood shift, eyes searching (_secret, what does he know, what is he hiding?) _for an explanation.

The Doctor's jaw works tensely for several minutes before he seems able to speak. "Morgan how long have you known Eric Fitzwilliam?" Morgan startles at the question, jerking a little, before she warily puts her walls back up. Her red eyes narrow, the perspiration dripping down her temple. The coat is already uncomfortable, the thick fabric almost suffocating the sensitive skin of her back where her wings are tucked away, but that isn't why she shivers now.

"Since I moved ta Maine two years ago. Why?" The Doctor runs his hands through his hair some more, making the ends stick up in every direction (_frustration, thick in my Heart)_ and emphasizing his worry.

"Does he… _know_… about you?" If she was wary before, she's downright leery of this (_her_) alien now. She backs a few steps away, suddenly very conscious of the fact that she's bare-foot and wearing a coat to hide a rather irritating piece of clothing. She's never felt so vulnerable in his presence before, even when playing their _quid pro quo_ game. Unnerved, yes, but she's always felt she's had at least an iota of power before. The shifty look in his eyes, the way his gaze fastens on her but won't meet her eyes, the anxious expression washing over the planes of his beautiful face… With a sickening lurch Morgan realizes the Doctor is hiding something from her. Something _about_ her. And that strips any sense of security she once thought she had from her with almost vicious glee, rendering her bare and defenseless.

She takes a few steps away from him, feeling her heart-rate pick up. _He's looking_, she thinks with more than a trace of nausea. _He's looking into who – _what_ – I am. No, no, no, no, nononononononononononono… _"Doctor, whatever it is, drop it." He looks startled by her desperate plea. Morgan is angry and scared all at once, her fingers unconsciously rising to tangle into and grip her ponytail. The Doctor's eyebrows rise at the sight of her, sweaty and flushed, red eyes wide and openly begging him, nervous energy churning from her body.

"It was just a question, Morgan," he says flatly, evasively. Morgan grits her teeth at the condescending note he adopts, loathing his superiority complex because he's some magical genius race and she _wouldn't fucking understand what he's doing_.

"It's a ruddy investigation, is what it is," she snarls. "Your lookin' inta what I am, aren't ya?" she accuses. The corner of his mouth twitches in his tell-tale sign, the sign that he's lying, that he's not being _honest_. (_You know, you know, you know, the raven screeches -)_ "Stop. Right now," she demands. The Doctor glares back at her, suddenly bristling at being bossed around by the petite red-headed girl. She can see he's ready to be as stubborn as her on this topic. Her heart is racing so hard in her chest it actually hurts. Around her Morgan can hear the TARDIS whine a groan, pushing at her mind to get her to stop, maybe get them both to stop before this blows up bigger than it already is. Neither one of them listens to the ancient time machine.

"Morgan -"

"No! Don't tell me that ya need ta know or that ya have a right to look inta _me life_ like that!" Her accent is strengthened by her anger, sharp as a blade and thicker than blood in her mouth.

The Doctor isn't afraid of her anger, though, not like so many others are. Heedlessly he backs into her personal space, even as Morgan's fists clench with the instinctive need to punch, to lash out. How dare he think she so weak he can just waltz in and turn her life upside down like this? Go poking through her old wounds and ripping them open? Pretend that this is some God-damned _salvation_, knowing just what kind of _freak_ she is? "_I_ might not have a right, but _you_ do," he retorts, bending down so he can seethe right into her face (_The Oncoming Storm_). "You owe it to yourself and the rest of the universe, Morgan, to understand who and what you are."

"Oh do I?" she challenges, fury making her tremble. Eerily this reflects what she was thinking seven years ago when she started searching for the truth.

His green-gold eyes are cold, hard gems in his face that don't waver from her own. "Yes, you do."

"Don't I owe it to meself ta stay _sane_? Huh? Ever think o' _that_ ya git?" she growls back. His jaw tenses, flexing as he strains to control his temper. Her own is only hanging on by a few threads (_the raven breaks its cage)_, the heat from the coat only making her mind more heated, more impassioned.

"How can you stay sane _not knowing?_" the Doctor counters, moving even closer until she has to stand on tip-toe to keep eye-level with him. No way is she backing down from him. She's not afraid of him; wary, slightly perturbed by his necessity to peer into her life when he isn't so willing to share his own, but actually afraid of _him_? No. She can take whatever he gives her and then some. And Morgan will give it all back too. "I've seen you, Morgan. You're so _afraid_ of what you are that you can barely keep it together. You're afraid to be touched, afraid to be close to anyone, afraid, _afraid_, AFRAID!" He roars the last of it at her, grabbing her shoulders in a blatant display of what he's saying. She flinches away from the touch, even if they are separated by a thick layer of cloth, and the Doctor smirks. It's not a friendly expression. "That's not keeping you sane that's making you _insane!_"

"No, what'll make me mad is findin' out the truth!" she screams back, shoving hard at his chest so he's forced out of her bubble. Her wings are straining to break free and she's only holding onto the need to let go with a rapidly fading strength. "This is not some game or mystery! Ya can't make everythin' alright by diggin' 'round in this!"

"And _you_ can't pretend that you're not special Morgan!"

"It's me bloody choice, I can pretend if I damn well want ta!"

They're back to shouting in each other's faces, the tension so thick that it threatens to electrocute them with its intensity. Both are breathing hard, the fury roiling to dangerous levels inside of them. They teeter on that razor-edge of becoming lost in their anger, of losing complete control. In this second they are both extremely dangerous.

Morgan's aware of this but she can't seem to pull herself away from the cliff rapidly approaching. One more word from the (_her_) alien and she's likely to start pounding his bloody head in. Why can't he just understand? Searching for answers again, looking for that elusive truth… It nearly broke her once, and it _will_ if she tries again. She barely escaped once with her life with even more questions; will she die this time around? Morgan doesn't see that as worth it, not at all. She'd rather be breathing and ignorant than knowledgeable and dead.

But the Doctor doesn't seem to see how living with a lie is better. His eyes suddenly flash with understanding, and he asks the one question that couldn't possibly be worse right now. "Is this why you left Ireland? Did you _find_ something?" He's breathless with his discovery, with renewed anger. She doesn't have to be a genius to know he thinks she's been lying to him. That's the tipping point. Morgan loses the last of her will to hold in her anger and slams her palms into his chest so hard he stumbles several feet away. Once he's out of the danger zone she yanks so hard at her hair in a bid for control that she rips the band out, the deep locks spilling around her shoulders in thick waves.

"No, it fuckin' found _me_ ya stupid wanker!" she shouts. "I looked and it nearly _killed_ me!" (_Blood, blood, oh God, hide the blood, run run run)_ "If ya wanna lose me like all the other people in yer goddamn life, then fine, keep lookin'! I guarantee that ye'll be standin' over me dead body in less than a year."

She regrets it the minute she says it. But it had to be said.

The wounded look on his face says otherwise.

* * *

The Doctor feels his hearts stop abruptly in his chest at Morgan's comparison. _Did she just….?_ He can see the flash of regret in her eyes but she stubbornly doesn't take back what she said. Pain flares, deeper and harsher than he thought it would be, but still there. Older and more painful for the time it had been allowed to fester. _She knows you lost them all. _His Fairy-Girl might not always understand what she sees, but she sees. She's seen into him and now she knows.

Morgan, sweaty and flushed, suddenly whirls and disappears, running from the console room on bare toes. She darts out of the room down the hallway that'll lead to her room or the kitchen – he's not honestly sure which she's going to hide in at the moment. Probably the kitchen, since she seemed rather embarrassed with the room (not that she'd show him why). Some caffeine might help her calm down.

He's finding that the fury building inside of him is not so easily swayed.

The urge to be violent, even if it's just with words, floods his mind. How could she do that, just _bring up his companions like that?!_ Couldn't she see how much it hurt him to be reminded of his past failures? If she can see so well then how could she do this to him? Didn't she understand he was just trying to help her? The little bit she lets him see of her, the bit of her life he can glean from their conversations and their game, has revealed a girl driven to the edge of madness by curiosity and lack of comprehension, even as the woman she has grown into over her short life is bravely defying any need she has for answers. The Doctor understands that tear in the psyche, the war that rages on inside a person's mind until there's nothing left but ashes; it was like that for him when he turned himself into a human to avoid the Family. He honestly had felt, some days, when he could _feel_ he was more but there was no explanation, that he would be driven barking mad. The Doctor is giving Morgan the chance to find out who she is, to understand the wonderful creature she is, and to find her place in the universe. That's more than anyone has offered _him_.

But, instead, when he carefully asks her questions – questions which could help him give her answers – she jumps down his throat about it! She screams at him, rages, and then throws his past companions in his face. And that hurts so badly that his rage is the only thing keeping him from falling apart underneath that lonely grief. The Doctor isn't thinking, consumed with his rage and the desperation churning inside of him to prove to Morgan she _won't_ be another lost companion. He won't lose her like he lost Rose or Donna or Amy. He fails to see how this could push her away like he did to Martha, either. Didn't she see what kind of _gift_ he's giving her? And if it's really as dangerous as Morgan is claiming, which he's not entirely sure of, then he'll protect her; he's the Lonely God, the Oncoming Storm. He'll keep her safe. Even if it's from herself.

In a fit of rancor he runs from the console room back into the TARDIS, down into his private bathroom. There, in the "medicine" cabinet (which is mostly full of odd little alien devices and pieces instead of medications), is a vial of blood, kept from the day they met, in perfect condition. He wrenches back the glass and snatches the vial, rolling it back and forth in his pale hand.

It's this, right here, the memory of her red blood on his hands that eliminated the first possibility. He hadn't even really entertained it, to be honest, because of the blood he currently holds. For a moment he had believed, when perusing through his library for information on different aliens, that Morgan could possibly be one of the Morrigu – a very powerful alien species from the planet Valhalla, shared by the Valkyrie, with wings and telepathic abilities that, when controlled, had even turned a few Times Lords green with envy. She shares the wings, stature, and physical appearance of the Morrigu, right down to her burning ruby eyes. Yet her blood is wrong; the Morrigu have blue blood from the hemocyanin they have, a copper compound that many invertebrates on Earth share. When Morgan bleeds, her blood drips a deep scarlet down her pale skin. When she blushes, her cheeks heat to a deep rusty red that brightens her almost-purple rose-red eyes. If she has hemocyanin in her blood then she would bleed dark blue and she would have a blue tint instead of rosy to her skin.

Plus, the red hair. As opposed to the Earthen myths about Valkyries, the Morrigu are actually the ones notorious for being blonde. A ginger Morrigu is frankly unheard of; it's just not a possible phenotype _or_ genotype for them.

He swirls the deep red blood, almost identical to human blood, in his hand. If Morgan won't willingly give answers, he'll have to take them by other means. It's the only way he can possibly give her peace. He comforts himself with the knowledge she will be grateful when she learns the truth…

…eventually.

The Doctor rushes back to the console room, Morgan's blood in his hand. He finds the correct area to run tests with on the TARDIS and deposits the DNA sample into the little hole in the console. The TARDIS throws a wave of unease at him, warning him silently of the dangers of what he's doing. "Please dear, try to understand," he tell her, a bite of anger in his voice. "She can't go on like this, you and I both know it." The TARDIS falls silent at his furious plea, but she is not happy about it. The Doctor types into the keyboard that pops up next to where he put the blood in and starts frantically typing. Here he compares Morgan's DNA to millions of other samples of millions of species, collected across the universe, to see which kind of alien she is. He doubts he is missing a single alien in the –

**NO MATCH** flashes across one of the various TARDIS screens in bright magenta letters.

"What?" he asks in bewilderment. He types some more, mind buzzing away angrily. Okay, so, maybe she's a hybrid of some kind. He compares her to all possible known hybrids, or even any aliens that can result in reproductive success with each other, an idea forming –

**NO MATCH. **The letters appear in bold, clinical, and detached destruction of his idea.

"Damn it, how can there be no match?! That's the most extensive collection of alien samples across the known universe! She can't have just randomly appeared twenty-one years ago!" he yells at the screen. The letters do not shift into identification at his tantrum. His TARDIS breathes a sigh of relief, and he scowls at her. "I hate this. I hate how she raises more questions. I hate -"

_And she hates having anyone prying into her life, which is what you are now doing._ The TARDIS chides him gently, aware of the strain this is putting on him. He hasn't been this worked up over a woman since River bloody Song first started popping up in random intervals. The Doctor slides to the floor with a groan, head in his hands. With a sigh, the TARDIS compares the DNA sample of Morgan's blood to some different data the Doctor just installed into her hard-drive. The pinging from the computer draws his attention, and he stands, confused. _What is she comparing it to?_ The Doctor wonders.

**MATCH: SUBJECT AND UNKNOWN DNA SEQUENCE.**

It's the data he nicked from the military compound where the girls were being kept in Maine. The half-destroyed DNA is an _exact_ match to Morgan's blood.

The Doctor feels slightly sick, but not altogether surprised. It make sense that the odd girl in all of Maine, the one alien without a clue to her ancestry, would be sought after so ruthlessly. But the evidence still makes him dizzy. "So something _is_ trying to find her." _Morgan wasn't exaggerating… did something or some_one_ try to kill her too? What does she mean? Damn it why can't she _talk_ to me? This could be solved if she just…_ Left even more confused than before, and all the angrier for it, the Doctor thumps his forehead hard enough that he's dizzy for a second. Suddenly the blinking screens, the mystery, are more than he can tolerate. He vacates the console room without a backward glance. He's too angry, too out of control, too _everything_ at the moment. Why can't the universe be as easy as taking Morgan to see the stars? Dancing on a cloud?

_Because she can't trust even herself._

_I _will_ solve this._

But for now, he needs to cool off. He can't think with his head so jumbled. Without thinking the Doctor leaves to head for the pool in the hopes that some physical exercise can calm him down.

* * *

_My children are stupid._

_My Thief pries where he is not wanted._

_My Raven won't look beyond the past to the present._

_My Thief won't listen._

_My Raven won't speak._

_But I can see._

_I see the Silence fall._

_I see the love that made my Raven._

_I see my Thief steal me._

_I see the Sparrow, and the Dragon, and the Soldier, and the Traveler, all mine too._

_I see the Rise of Time._

_I see the Fall of Time._

_I see love._

_I see hope._

_I can give them hope._

_My children, you have brought the hope onto me, and have drunk hope, and have longed for hope, and are breathing hope in each other's' presence._

_My Raven, my girl who is of all worlds and of none;_

_My Thief, who stole me and my Raven;_

_Can you see the hope?_

_Can you taste it?_

_No?_

_You will._

_It's on the library table._

* * *

**A/N: Wow, SOMEBODY'S not happy lying around anymore! Ha ha, wonder _who_ this is? ;) (Not that it's actually that hard to figure out)…**

**Like? Don't like? Let me know!**


	8. Once Upon A Time

**I'm going to really need you guys to trust me.**

**Things are going to move _fast_ now, with very few breaks in-between. The Doctor's on the hunt and little bits of Morgan - and the Doctor's - past are going to start colliding. While there will be some lighter moments, things are going to get very dark very fast, very quick very fast, and the bigger aspect of the plot is going to come into play very soon. I don't like slow build-ups, I get impatient if it's not done correctly, and I start skipping. Sorry but it's true. I like faster paced writing, and while I promise there will be some light (and romantic) moments, better read 'cause Kansas for both of them is shrinking beneath the tornado. All those bits that don't make sense - I did it _on purpose_. I actually have a plan for this one! Who'd'a thunk it, huh, considering my track record?**

**Okay, so, this chapter. Title is pretty self-explanatory. Bear in mind, this isn't me giving away the plot - this is Morgan finally having proof. While there is an outline for what's going to happen in this chapter (a rough sketch of one) _this is not the whole story_. Kudos to anyone who figures out what language she's reading in by the way (again, not difficult, just throwing it out there).**

**Last note - I know, I know, I _know_ she does one of the worst things a book lover can do... but I've, er, sortofbeendoingthatsinceIstartedreading. What?! I get impatient, and I don't wanna get attached if someone _dies_! I cry enough thank you!**

**Okay, I babbled, onto the chapter!**

* * *

Chapter Eight: Once Upon A Time

Morgan doesn't go to the kitchen she adores.

Morgan doesn't go to her room.

Morgan ends up in the library.

She doesn't intend to go there, she just does. Morgan didn't even know that this place was the library; she'd smelled the chlorine when looking for her kitchen, and had somehow ended up in the library, which showcases an enormous, crystalline blue pool as well. _Wicked. _Too bad she doesn't feel like swimming. However, the heated area forces her to shed her coat and retie her hair into a ponytail or risk passing out in the warmth. The light garment underneath at least breathes properly so she doesn't feel ready to tip sideways and nap quite so badly.

Still fuming at the Doctor (_heart and soul)_ Morgan stomps away from the pool and towards the back of the library. Books are left open on random tables, breaking the spines and leaving them out to grow moldy in the moist environment. Her scowl darkening at the mistreatment, Morgan stalks over to the nearest pile and starts snapping the books closed and pushing them onto shelves. There are so _many (books of all the universe)_, of all shapes and sizes, textures and types, colors and styles. She puts back a blue, diamond-shaped book with a shiny texture that somehow feels gritty like sand; a red one with a distinctly smoky scent that leaves an acrid taste in her mouth, bound in leather of some animal she couldn't possibly name; a brown one that has a texture similar to leaf, round with veins and even vines binding one side; and more "traditionally" styled books than she can possibly count. Morgan's anger, caught up in the familiar act and feel of books. For as long as she can remember the three things she loved the most were reading, fighting, and flying - not necessarily in that order on any given day. If she wasn't ripping out the hair or scratching out the eyes of some tart who called her a freak, or escaping to the skies over the Moors, she was reading. There's something very comforting when she's so angry to have the heavy tomes weighing her arms down as she puts each back. Each book restored to a shelf drains a little of her anger, bleeding some control back into her mind. _Father Kevin's stupid anger management program coming back, I guess_, she thinks with a touch of humor.

Morgan methodically continues to put the books back, but now she'll occasionally pause to read a few pages, curiosity over some prompting her. There's a few she has the distinct feeling are _not_ English even though the words appear to be so. There's one in particular, a plain black leather book with words in purple ink on the inside, that for a moment shimmers as intertwined circles, beautiful and complex, before translating in her mind to English. (_Important)_ With a mental shrug at the sudden shift, she sets the book aside and resumes her task. She'll come back for it later.

A few times she encounters heavy, text-like books in the same circular language (_old as Lords of Time)_ as the black book. They translate almost immediately for her, revealing that they are encyclopaedias on alien species. She growls a little each time she sees one of those, reminded of why she stormed off in the first place. Morgan understands. She does - it _used_ to drive her mad not knowing what she is, let alone who. But Morgan has had nineteen years since she was dumped in the Moors of Ireland to become accustomed to being a freak, and closing in on three to the fact that it's too dangerous to look for answers (_blood, blood, oh God hide the blood)_. She shudders and pulls at her ponytail. No, she can't let him keep looking.

And she's not curious at all what he already found. Not. At. All.

With a shake of her head Morgan finishes cleaning off the library tables so the only book left is the black one. No longer in a frenzy of movement fueled by her rage, Morgan turns her head from side to side to study the library. It's more _cozy_ than _beautiful_; everything is mismatched and scattered around in heaps, as if groups of people had pulled up chairs to talk to each other and read only to forget to put them back. Everything from picnic tables to ornate glass structures to school desks are scattered around, with plush velvet arm chairs to rickety plastic stools bordering the tables. Morgan finds a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth at the sight. She can easily imagine the (_her)_ Doctor picking this stuff up and then finding a home for it. Doesn't matter if it's an odd person or thing, he'll keep it and love it and find a place for it. King of the Misfits, that's the (_her)_ Doctor.

(_Found a place for me)_

Morgan picks up her book and starts searching for a place to read. She doesn't really like the thought of bunking down in a chair at the moment. What if the Doctor comes in and sees her? Wants to start up their fight again? Morgan's calming down but a part of her (_the raven)_ is more than willing to pound into his thick skull just how stupid he's being right now. She needs to calm down completely before he comes looking for her.

She should have known, really. She wanted a place to hide; she wants to be alone. Morgan all but stumbles underneath the door leading into the ceiling. A smirk quirks her lips as she looks up into the open space above her that wasn't there a few seconds before. The Doctor is incredible, but he can't fly. _Thanks,_ she thinks loudly to the TARDIS. She gets a hum and a rush of warmth for a reply. Morgan rolls her shoulders and lets her wings extend from her back in a rustle of silky black feathers (_freedom, Mother and Father, freedom)_. Carefully she beats them, levitating herself from the floor so she can grab the plain wooden (_ha! Sonic screwdriver doesn't work on wood!)_ door. It nearly smacks her in the head as it swings open, but she manages to close it behind her.

The space she finds herself in is basically an open room with a glass floor. How anyone could miss that there is a giant _window_ above the library completely escapes her - until she remembers she's in a magical Time Machine who can talk, feel, think, and carries a mad alien around that feels like he's been a part of Morgan's life (_a part of me)_ for… well, forever. Probably has some weird panel to make the window look like a ceiling instead. Or maybe to make the ceiling clear so she can see down into the library. Either one is possible in this place. Morgan bounces a little on the glass to see if she falls through; when she doesn't, she cautiously starts wandering around, mindful that she is on a rather breakable substance that has a nasty tendency to be sharp when it shatters. She cranes her head back and looks up into a peaked ceiling reminiscent of the thatched roofs of her home (_adopted_) land, beams exposed and hard but soft-looking materials composing the ceiling. A skylight offers the view of a sunny day, a few silvery clouds brushing the "window" above her. She's fairly sure that they're not in space at the moment, so she doesn't quite believe what she's seeing. But it's pretty, and cool when so much of the world is too hot for her.

The young redhead strolls around the room, the book clutched to the flimsy clothing the TARDIS forced her into. There's a fireplace situated above where the pool would be, but instead of brightly colored warmth spilling from its hearth, blue flames tinged with royal purple at the tips leap forth at her approach, and a pleasantly dry coolness spreads around her. Morgan sighs in pleasure at the comfortable temperature. A full and very soft looking rug is spread out before the fire, beckoning her with its softness. She complies with the item's silent request, curling up before the "cold" fire and almost purring (_actually purring like a cat)_. This is heaven.

Morgan wonders if the TARDIS made this place for her, or if it's always been here. Judging from the room she was given, the ancient Time Machine knew she was coming. For some reason this doesn't surprise her at all.

The woman-child sprawls on the rug, face down with her wings perched along the length of her body instead of cooped up inside her body like normal. She crosses her arms, the book flipped open between her skilled fingers, and rests her head on her arms. Deftly she flicks to the front page, squinting until the circles become words.

_The Raven's Song, by Darcy Smith_, was written in looping cursive in bright purple ink_._ For some reason this strikes Morgan as cute. Morgan chuckles and turns the page with a finger to the dedication. _To my mother, who apparently thought love was stupid. And to my father, who apparently thought my mother was a romantic. Wonder who won that one?_ Morgan laughs some more and then promptly raises her head to jump to the last chapter. A flower, black with time, falls out of the pages as she rapidly turns through them, perfectly preserved and dried between the yellowing sheaths of paper. Morgan hesitates to pick up the flower and twirl it between her fingers before setting it aside. Maybe she can use it as a bookmark.

The word _Epilogue_ jumps out at her a few pages from the back cover. She stops and begins to read. Immediately she likes how this particular language feels; there's a _weight_ to all the words, like there can be no mistaking the meaning even as they translate in her mind to the closest thing in English. Half the time a few words strike her as knowing what they mean but being unable to voice them in any English terms (_Language of yours and his)_. _Very cool._

She begins to read.

_I stared at my mother with a frown when she finished this story. "Mama, I asked you how you and Papa met. That's the story of the Raven Queen." I'll never forget how my mother's eyes danced with laughter when I said that, like I had just said a joke only she understood._

"_Is it?" she asked with that teasing voice she uses on me and my father all the time. "I didn't notice." She rests a hand on her belly, where my little brother was growing at the time. I nodded with a perturbed frown deepening. I was physically fifteen at the time, and I was irritated that I had no clue how my parents met and fell in love. Which is distinctly idiotic, since I was _there_ for the last few months of that particular journey. _

"_Yeah. Only, the Raven Queen, y'know, _lives_ in the original version. And she takes the crown, too."_

"_Why would she do that?" my mother asked me, the teasing growing stronger. I grimaced as I tried to think through that one._

"_Well… because it's her birthright. She's the Lost Princess; she _should_ take the crown, right? I mean, wouldn't she want it?"_

"_No," my mother immediately replied. Her face softened and she tucked some of my unruly curls behind my ear. "No, I don't believe so."_

"_Well, why not? She could've been royalty! A queen that could've changed everything!" I said earnestly. My mother's smile became sad and she rubbed her pregnant belly with an absent hand._

"_She did," she said softly. "She allowed her cousins to take the throne. Isn't that heroic?" I scoff at the notion._

"_No. She should've stayed and fought for her people." A keen light came into my mother's eyes then, and a slight frown twisted her mouth to one side._

"_They weren't her people though, were they? They sent people to kill her, rape her mind, enslave her, and make her a prisoner. One of them mutilated her and made her a zombie in every definition of the word. Would you want to rule people like that?"_

_I thought long and hard on that one, furiously looking for a way to stay a Queen with those kind of haunting memories persisting. "But… those people were stopped, right? I mean, not _everyone _was that bad." My mother shook her head slowly._

"_No. But she was tired, -" _Here Morgan blinks at the word and stops reading. She understands it but for the life of her can't give a name to the endearment. She skips the word and moves on. _"And she had a daughter, and a family she wanted to be with. Do you think she wanted to give that up?"_

"_Well, no, but -"_

"_And what about Storm? Do you think he could've given up being a God for being a King?"_

"_But he _stole_ her!" I cried out finally, irritated that my mother was making this man, this alien who walked around calling himself a God, seem like a hero. "I mean, he came into her home and he took her away!" My mother starts to laugh, clutching her belly and giggling. "What's so funny?" I demanded._

"_Oh, Darcy! You miss the point!" she chuckled, stroking my hair and gathering me into an embrace. "He didn't steal her!" I blink, confused._

"_What? But she wanted to go home, and he wouldn't let her…"_

"_Sweetheart, she wanted to go home because she was afraid of falling in love with him. She thought it was stupid, that she would break if she let him in. He knew that, but he had already fallen for her, and he couldn't let yet another person break his soul like that." She shook her head so her beautiful hair spilled about her face and mine. "No, Darcy, _she_ stole _him_; and he had no intention of letting her go once he knew that."_

_For a long time, even after I had written off what my mother had said as folly and her trying to keep me from prying into the truth of her and my father's relationship, I heard that going through my mind. I'd watch my mama and my papa when they thought I was asleep or busy, and I'd see how they touched each other reverently, like the other was a precious treasure. I was curious, of course, like any child is, but I didn't understand really. I had heard my mother's version of the Raven Queen, but sometimes when she'd turn her head just so as if listening for something, or my father's eyes would darken when he was upset, I'd begin to think maybe the story wasn't just a myth, or my mother's words folly._

_It wasn't until a few days before my little brother was born that I could ask my father if the story was true. "Papa?" I called, watching him as he worked on the engine of our home._

"_Yes Darcy?" he called back. I saw he was using the wrong wrench and tapped his leg so I could give him the right one._

_I hesitated before I asked. "That story Mama told me, about the Raven Queen and the Faceless God… was it true? Is that… is that you and Mama?" My father paused in his work to duck out from beneath the engine and sit next to me. He looked pensive, but not altogether afraid of the question._

"_Yes. That's us." I guess I didn't want to ask why he didn't say _was_. I was afraid of the answer in a lot of ways. My father put his arm around me and hugged me tightly to his side, kissing the side of my head swiftly. Papa generally gets the effects of the confusion faster than anyone else - according to this story, he practiced on Mama._

_I didn't truly understand why my mother gave up the throne until we actually went to her home world. They were kind enough but the way they treated us was eerie, like we were these beings they never thought they would see in their lifetime again. I don't think they saw us so much as they saw our power. Mama's cousins were sweet enough, and didn't care about status, but they were part of the last of the generation that had fought in the war. Their children were nice, if a little formal, but the grandchildren had only ever heard the stories. They gawked at us like we were exhibits at one of the museums Papa likes so much. It was highly uncomfortable, especially when they started getting a little too close to my newborn brother, asking questions and demanding to hold him after a while. Mama was growling by the end of the hasty visit and clutching him to her chest. Papa said she did the same with me even though I was sixty years old at the time, the equivalent to a four-year-old by my species standards. Being famous and royal isn't nearly so nice when you're treated like a freak by everyone but the other royals._

_Not the story you expected to hear, I know. The original story the Raven Queen stays at Valhalla, as the guardian to that world and the surrounding worlds of the Planetary Order. She makes herself scarce and had to sacrifice being with her lover the Faceless God for the better of the Universe. She's alone and so is her -. _Another word here, something no flowery sonnet could ever capture into words. Morgan skips over it much faster this time and continues reading. _But I'm here to tell you that's not the story, and I don't know why people like her being alone, or him. Destined to be in love but never together? What utter rubbish. No, my parents made the decision to _live._ Given the opportunity to rule one of the largest Planetary Orders in the Universe, they gave it up for each other and for me and my sister and my siblings who weren't even born yet. They gave it up for my aunts and my uncles and my brothers-in-law and my eventual girlfriend. They gave it up and they have never been happier._

_I understand if you don't like what you've read. That's okay; I don't expect anyone to believe me. But frankly, I thought that history could use a little help. They're not gods or beings crafted from stone or any other of the shit people come up with. They argue and they kiss and they love and they hate like anyone else. Yes, they're aliens, but they're people too. Just so you know that. You might like the other myth better, but I'm here with the actual story. I'm here with the Raven's Song, straight from the bird's mouth. And I'm here to tell you what no one seems to believe anymore, sans the battlefield where a soldier might catch a glimpse:_

_They lived._

Morgan eagerly rushes to the front of the book, skipping past the dedication to the first chapter. Her heart hammers in her chest with the thrill of a good book and her wings quiver slightly with excitement. She wants to know this story completely now, all the ins and outs of the characters, their rise and their fall. She doubts it's _real_ - authors fabricate themselves into the stories all the time to make the plot more interesting - but Morgan is hooked now and couldn't care less.

_Chapter One:_

_You know the story. The Faceless God finds the Long Lost Princess, the Raven Queen, from where she's been hiding and steals her only to return her at the brink of a war she stops and for them to part, knowing their other half is out there but never within reach._

_I'm going to tell you now that that's bullocks._

_The original story is funny just because of how ridiculous it is. Very Romeo-and-Juliet. And entirely wrong, even in the beginning. The story doesn't start with when the Faceless God stealing the Raven Queen from her hiding place._

_It starts when she steals him._

_Once Upon A Time, on a planet that no longer exists, there were two -. _The word she reads is reminiscent of brothers, but stronger, even deeper than blood. _They were the bane of their planet's existence in many ways. Trouble was their only true other friend growing up. By the time they were fifteen they were actively bucking against authority and looking for escape. Theta Sigma and Koschei, the two youngest geniuses of their planet - and the most likely to go off on their own to drive the elders insane._

_That's how they found her._

_She was lying at the base of a mountain, sleeping, curled up like a child. She was pale as the snow around her, and infinitely more beautiful than any other creature they had seen before. They were smart enough that they knew who she could be, but she shouldn't have been in that time. Not yet at any rate. Koschei hung back, afraid of the power rolling off of her. But Theta, ever more reckless than his -, reached forward and touched the woman's shoulder. She yawned, and turned onto her side to blink blearily at them. Suddenly her whole face brightened, and she smiled._

"_Hello," she greeted in their complex language, as if it were perfectly acceptable to sleep in the snow in nothing but a backless white dress that pooled around her legs. Theta skidded back at her abrupt awakening and greeting, not afraid but not stupid either. She laughed at his discomfort and stood. Even standing she barely came up to his shoulder, yet she held all the power over the not-yet-men._

"_Who are you?" Koschei asked her warily. The girl smiled and looked Theta straight into his eyes, burning and hypnotizing him with her own unearthly gaze. _

"_Well that depends," she murmured, reaching forward to gently touch Theta but speaking to Koschei. She brushed his collar down and then cupped his cheek, her face soft and her smile sad. Theta was breathless watching her, completely enraptured. Neither one questioned her as she flicked her gaze between them, a sly and mischievous look coming to play across her sharp features. With a flick of her fingers she showed them the sheer awe of her true form. She was back to a mere girl in a hearts-beat, her smile became dangerous but neither one was afraid of her. They watched her with the fascination of a child finally seeing the fairy tales of youth coming to life. She was kind, but she had a purpose. Theta was falling dangerously close to being in love with her, with the mystery she spun around her, already. In her burning eyes he saw adventure, and heartbreak, and a future so beautiful he wanted to weep. Her time stream was as glorious as it was tragic. She must have known he could see into her life that, for she smiled wider, but there was something in her face that spoke of a soul battered and bruised but still bright. "Do you believe?" she asked him suddenly, intently._

"_In what?" Theta finally spoke, unable to take a full breath in with her so close, with this almighty creature of legend in his gaze. She pressed her lips to his cheek in a chaste kiss, making his hearts race, and then to Koschei's. Her eyes were very sad then as she regarded both boys._

_"In a good story."_

* * *

**Last minute change at the end there 'cause BLEH! Sentimental dribble. Too tired, I'm tellin' ya...**

**So like? Don't like? You know the drill!**


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